


The Fortune Teller

by KirkyPet



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Mad Max: Fury Road
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fairground AU, Fortune Telling, Found Family, Inspired by Music, Low stakes AU, Mutual Pining, Pining, Podfic Welcome, and they were ROOMMATES
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2020-09-07 01:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 33,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20301055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KirkyPet/pseuds/KirkyPet
Summary: Max has his fortune told by reluctant psychic Furiosa.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Allen Toussaint's 'Fortune Teller'  
https://youtu.be/UkR8MrirKIY
> 
> Thanks to Tyellas aka thebyrchentwigges, epic all-round writer (obvs) and my advisor on all things fortune-tellery!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edits to this chapter now made with the assistance of Tyellas aka thebyrchentwigges, many thanks to ya

The smell of damp marquees, candyfloss and fried breakfasts. Hacking coughs, the splash of unwary boots into rain-filled potholes; morning greetings from early-birds, human and avian alike. As a breeze picks up, the freshness of muddy playing-field grass is replaced by the odour of the cheese-packing plant across town.

But, wedged in the innards of the Chair-O-Plane, Furiosa pays no heed to such mundane matters. The fair opens in an hour and she can see the problem _right there_. And the tool she needs is just out of reach -

_Oh come on - - if I have to let go of this bloody thing it’ll take forever to get it aligned properly again. _

“Ace? Ace!! Pass me the shifter? _Ace?!_” she wails, and groans in frustration. Then she brightens as the tool appears at her fingertips.

She mutters protests at the obtuseness of the sticky mechanism, swearing when the occasion demands it – finally Furiosa gives a triumphant grunt as it tightens into place. One by one, further tools appear whether she asks for them or not, and they turn out to be exactly what she needed to get the thing oiled and running like a beauty.

Ace, while not particularly voluble, is quieter than usual, merely grunting in response to her comments and occasionally making a huffing noise that sounded like a walrus with a sense of humour.

_That’s fine. Fewer distractions. Only half an hour left ‘til opening and this ride’s a popular one, for some reason._

As she clambered free of the spidery metal arms it became clear that, in fact, she’d been talking to no-one at all. Ace gave her a wave from the coffee van queue. _So who - ? _ Furiosa turned her head as a flash of hi-vis yellow caught her eye; she watched a man in a security vest walk away, his dog trotting at his side.

She was brought back to herself by a nudge in the ribs. “Gotta say," Ace declared, handing her a steaming cup. "The fella can be helpful enough long as you don’t ask him to talk."

“Huh,” she nodded.

*

“Yeah, that guy. Security. Does nights,” Toast folded her arms and looked wise.

“I know he’s Security, Toast. He’s got SECURITY written on his back,” Furiosa retorted.

“He’s kinda cranky,” Cheedo sighed. I tried to talk to him one time, but he was having none of it,”

“You nag strangers for their life story, that’s what you’re gonna get,” muttered Toast, huffily. “’Specially when they’ve just come off a night shift.”

“No – it was seven in the evening. He’d have just come on.”

“Was he rude to you?” Dag bristled, baring her teeth. “Schlanger!”

“Not rude, couldn’t say rude. Not really,” Cheedo replied, hurriedly. “He just kinda ran away. I only asked if he was going to join up, long term-like. Wouldn’t even tell me his name.”

Furiosa patted the girl’s shoulder in pity. She looked so crestfallen. Poor Cheedo, always trying to be friends with everyone under the sun. Rain. Whatever.

“Casual workers can be like that. Probably had his reasons. Probably don’t mean to be unfriendly, y’know?”

“He’s probably on the run. Probably killed somebody,” Dag added, darkly.

“I think he’s just shy,” Cheedo brightened. “But I’ll leave him be, for now.”

Capable looked up from the paper, “Nux likes him.”

Nux worked the day shift. The body of a human Rottweiler, with his shaved head and scarred features, but the brain of a two-year-old Labrador. Probably ideal for fairground security. The kids regarded him with a mixture of adoration and awe, and their mums thought he was adorable. But Nux only had eyes for one girl and that was their Capable.

“Nux likes _everybody_,” they chorused as one.

*

“But why me?” Furiosa wailed. “Last time I looked at my contract, it said mechanic. Not fortune teller! Can’t Keep shut up shop? Just for today? Say that -- the veil is closed, or some such crap?”

“She asked for you specially, and she’ll lose her spot if she keeps closing up. Remember the row last time? Besides, you know you’re good at it. Everyone says so.”

That shut Furiosa up. It was a sore point. She was good at it, worryingly so. Palms, tarot, you name it. The first time she'd tried them, she'd caught on right away. The tarot cards had rippled in her hands, slipped from her fingers and made sudden sense, just like that. On a good (bad) day, she could just look someone in the eye and see what their future held. Just little flashes, most times, but it gave her the creeps. She’d tried to hide it but Keeper had more than an inkling. The old woman’s talent lay in the gift of the gab. Plus, she had the eldritch crone look down pat, and it worked wonders. Not to mention her sharp eyes and even sharper wits. She deserved her reputation, she worked at it.

Furiosa, now. She just _was_.

_Goddammit._

*

Max was coming off his shift when the heavens opened. Really opened. Families and teenagers running and screaming for cover, at least the ones who could – the ones on the ground. Those up on the Big Wheel would just have to endure the worst of it before anyone else.

He ducked into the nearest tent, into a dim and spicy atmosphere, like incense and candles. The skies had darkened so much with the sudden downpour that it didn’t take long for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. There were a surprising amount of gauze and sequins.

It looked a lot like a -

“Tell your fortune?” a deep and mysterious voice intoned from the shadows.

_Oh - - shit_


	2. Chapter 2

“Uh - no?” Max replied, lifting the tent flap and peeking out. Just in case the cacophony hammering on the tarp - and yes, angry thunder now - was actual gunfire instead of rain. He might’ve run the gauntlet against _that, _but this weather was something else. Daytime sleeping in a car was difficult enough without being soaked to the skin.

“‘S raining,” he offered by way of explanation. The figure sighed and leaned her veiled chin on her hand. This had the effect of transforming her from an occult sibyl to – well, just a normal fairground worker having a slow day on the job.

He must’ve looked a little more curious, because she tilted her head with a plaintive “Oh go on. No charge.”

It rained on. _Well, what’s the worst that can happen?_

He immediately thought of the worst that could happen.

_But then, it’s a whole lot of mumbo jumbo. If they say you’re going to die horribly, they’re just being assholes. If they say something nice is going to happen, they’re being nice._

Brandishing that thought like a shield, he pulled back the vacant chair and eased himself down.

_Okay, this is perfectly normal, not weird at all, _he thought, sitting opposite a tall figure swathed in black. The pendant lamp cast her face in shadow, but he thought he could glimpse a glint of eyes reflecting the light from a flickering candle which, presumably for safety reasons, was electric.

“Give me your palm?” she stretched her right hand on the table, palm upward - - 

After a second’s hesitation, Max laid his hand in hers - - and flinched as she drew back with a surprised squeak. Unnerved, he glanced at the door. _Jump-scares? _He had not signed up for that.

“Just static,” she muttered, and Max immediately thought of lightning strikes. She shifted his hand to her left. All gloved in black satin it was, and felt hard and strange but he hadn’t time to wonder about that because her fingertip was lightly tracing the lines in his palm and it really tickled.

She hummed thoughtfully. Not an uh-oh noise, but Max still found it unsettling. Of course, he probably would’ve found everything unsettling right then. _Did her veil twitch? Was that a frown?_

“Cards,” she announced, and dropped his hand on the table. She fanned the pack on the table. “Pick three,” she instructed. He didn’t hesitate. It was difficult to hesitate when that voice told you to do something. Besides, she wasn’t giving it any of the spiel they do on tv shows. She was just getting on with it. He was grateful for that.

_Was it still raining? _He heard a rushing in his ears, but that could just be nerves. He was definitely a little bit nervous. His fingers were unusually clumsy, but he finally managed to slide three from the neat fan on the table.

“Turn them over - “ she went on, in a faraway voice. _Probably thinking of what to have for dinner_.

He turned over the first one and his eyebrows shot up. A goofy-looking bastard sauntering over a cliff edge with a dog at his heels. A bunch of greenery in his hand. Max squinted at the card out of curiosity. Mistletoe. _Hmph. The Fool. __Bet the pack's half-full of that card. _He glanced at the fortune teller, who gave a little nod.

“See it more as a card for new beginnings, hope, trust,” she murmured, probably seeing his expression. “The Fool’s wiser than he looks. Try another."

Max raised a single brow at this one. The Lovers. A man and woman, butt-naked, making out in a thicket with an embarrassed deer looking on. The dude seemed to have little horns on his head. _Subtle, that. Well, g__reat. Probably another one that everyone gets. They do look like they're having a good time though - _He felt himself blush, which fuelled his growing embarrassment.

He turned over the third card without being prompted. Thankfully nothing embarrassing about this one. It wasn’t one that he recognised. A wild-looking woman standing under a crescent moon, a spell-book before her. Max stared at the card, almost hearing the wind rage overhead. He blinked and looked up at the fortune-teller inquiringly, almost managed to catch her eye before it flitted away. Her attention was fixed on the cards, she touched each one in turn, and her veil moved as if she sighed.

“The High Priestess?” he prompted, running his tongue over dry lips.

“Hmm? Oh. Yes. The cards - they reflect your inner self - a mirror to the subconscious, they – they - ” Then her half-lidded eyes crinkled at the corners, like she was smiling behind that veil. She huffed a little laugh.

“Hey. Look. I’ll cut the crap." She took a deep breath. "Most times, all they mean is that you should take on new experiences, don’t doubt yourself; the lovers mean balance, harmony, can’t have too much of that, right? - and then the high priestess; she’s all for listening to your inner voice, trusting your gut.”

Max looked musingly at the cards. _It was all such vague fluffy bullshit, but maybe -_

“But - - it could simply be that- ” she gestured towards him and shrugged “ - you’re a fool who’s in love, and I’m the fortune teller who says so?”

_Hah - nice try. That’s hilarious. Could she have aimed that at anyone less likely? _He shook his head and let out a wearily-amused sigh. Well, this fortune teller’s candid way of talking certainly wasn’t what he’d expected when he sat down.

Wait, had it stopped raining? It was quiet out, and he could hear people emerging from their hiding places. He guessed they were close to being done here, and he tensed up to take his leave. That’s when he heard her gasp –

Her hand covered her eyes – “No no no - ” she groaned, “Oh my god, it's real - you really ARE, aren’t you - ?”

“What? No!” he spluttered, realising what she meant. “What? No I’m really not - ”

“No – not YET you’re not,” she cut in, rubbing at her temples and, with a sound between a laugh and a sob, she went on, “But – you _will_ be – soon – you’ll look in their eyes and, oh Max, when it happens, you’ll know it – and everything’ll change – ow, shit not again - ”

“Are – are you alright?” he asked, alarmed, not knowing what to expect next and hoping it wouldn’t involve ectoplasm.

“Ugh, _no_– migraine. Can we - ?”

She waved a hand, her body language now very much please-fuck-off. Max got up to leave, not a little stunned at the outburst. He hesitated at the door –

“Can I get you anything?”

“No fine thanks. Go on, your dog’s waiting.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Furiosa is simultaneously Not Very Good At This and Too Damn Good At This

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Tyellas for explaining how a reading SHOULD go

Pulling on her hooded cape over her work clothes, Furiosa knew in her bones that today would be a slow one. Mondays were always slow, Keeper always said so. Which made it doubly irritating that she'd made such a fuss about getting cover. More often than not, Keeper could be found among the audience at Dag's fire-eating show, or snapping at tin cans at Toast's shooting gallery. She always insisted that she knew when she was going to get customers or not, although the council inspector had been rather more difficult to persuade on that point. Last inspection he'd threatened to give Keeper's patch to the Women's Institute for a jam stall. Keeper had threatened to put a curse on him if he did.

Which was how Furiosa had ended up being a reluctant understudy. They did want the Fair to be able to return to this town again next year. Besides, it wasn't so bad, standing in for Keeper on the rare days she went AWOL. If it was busy, the day flew past pretty quickly. But a slow day could be awfully dull, just _sitting_ there. She'd come prepared this time, though, armed with a stack of paperwork. 

*

Five minutes later, she cast the sheaf of papers away in despair, not having reckoned on the low lighting. The fringed and beaded pendant light hanging over the table was not designed for office use and she knew she’d only get a headache if she persisted. The timesheets would have to wait 'til tomorrow.

Furiosa idly took a sheet from the top of the pile, folded and refolded it until she'd made a fortune teller. She played with it for a few minutes, mulling over the schedule for this week's work -

_Ten minutes later - _

_Why did the girls only ever come visiting when she was up to her elbows in engine parts?_ She knew Cheedo and Dag were scheduled for a show, but Angharad might’ve stopped in by now. Or Cape. Furiosa would’ve killed for some trivial gossip right then. _Ugh, why hadn’t she offered them free tarot readings? _This was going to be such a loooooong day –

Bored.

She drummed a tattoo with her pen on her metal knuckles, the sound only slightly muffled by the black glove she wore over her prosthetic for readings. It wasn’t that she was afraid of scaring off the punters with her metal hand – she just didn’t want to be recognised. That's why she always tied a veil over her nose and mouth, covering all but her eyes. She didn’t want to get a reputation as a woo merchant in case she ended up having to do this full-time. _Gimme those engines any day. _Furiosa knew where she was with engines.

_Rat-a-tat-tat-tat_

The drumming was soon accompanied by a loud _smack - - smack-smack smack-smack-smack-smack _of fat raindrops thudding onto the canvas roof. And as an ominous roll of thunder cracked the sky above, Furiosa grinned in evil delight behind her black polyester veil. Surely folks would flock in if only to get out of the rain.

Sure enough, there was the sound of running feet splashing through puddles that hadn’t been there moments earlier – shrieks and yelps – -

Furiosa sat up straight in readiness, flicked the forgotten fortune teller into a corner and cleared her throat -

And, sure enough, the tent flap flew open and a figure ducked inside.

“Tell your fortune?”

*

She wasn’t sure whether it was the hunched shoulders or the grumbling tone of voice, but she knew who the man was instantly. And, of course, there was the high-vis vest thing poking out of his jacket pocket. Bit of a giveaway, that.

Furiosa perked up considerably. This would be interesting. Not for gossip’s sake – she would never discuss readings with the girls – but just to satisfy the curiosity that had been building up since Security Guy had been hired a few months ago. It was only natural - he was all silent and gruff but yet nobody had a bad thing to say about him. Despite repeated rebuffs, Cheedo persisted in trying to Make Friends. According to Cape, he'd become the father figure Nux desperately wanted. Even _Ace_ nodded to the guy on occasion. For Furiosa's part, she hadn't had any _personal_ experience apart from yesterday - from that she'd learned that he knew his way round a toolbox and had a moderately nice ass. Not that that had anything to do with anything.

But, _quelle surprise_, he didn’t seem all that keen on a reading. It was only the rain that’d stopped him from bolting as soon as he realised where he was. Well, so much for that. She should've known better. Furiosa dropped her chin on her hand in no small disappointment. _Ugh. Just her luck._ Keeper would have a herd of soaked and giggling punters hanging on her every word by now. There was a reason Furiosa preferred to work with machines than people. Customer relations really sucked.

But, but - he’d looked back at her with that quizzical crinkled-brow look. _A little bit curious, are we? _Encouraged, she asked again in her normal voice, rather than the occult-sounding one she typically used for readings. She might have even tried to sound a little bit alluring? Tried, anyway. He hesitated, frowned, tilted his head as if considering, then finally squared his shoulders and stepped forward like someone going into battle.

Relishing this minor triumph, she dropped her eyes and smiled behind her veil. _Palms first, I think._

*

She’d had plenty of time to reflect in the days that came after –

The spark had been a warning – _why _hadn’t she heeded? But she'd been wrapped in polyester gauze during a thunderstorm. _Anyone _would have put it down to bad static. Security Guydidn’t seem to feel it, which should've struck her as odd - but that spark had really _hurt. _She could still feel it, almost, even days later.

But no, of course she hadn’t heeded the warning. Idiot. She’d just shook out her stinging fingers and carried on regardless. But she had been careful. No eye contact. And she transferred his hand to her left, because damn she didn't want any more sparks. Also, part of her wanted to _know. _She wanted to know what he was, what made him tick. She wanted to examine those palms.

Perversely, Furiosa did have a little bit of faith in palmistry. Probably because Keeper always insisted that it was hokum. Deep down _she_ \- Furiosa - reckoned that palms could tell you plenty, although it wasn’t always from their lines.

His had a deep, deep scar. Nasty. Her fingertip traced just where it intersected the heart line. Furiosa’s eyes stung with sudden tears, which she put down to sinus trouble. _Some past injury, _she’d supposed, frowning as she blinked them away. She wondered if it went with his bad leg somehow.

Afterwards, as she stared at the ceiling over her bunk, she struggled to remember what she’d actually said to him during the reading. She had a vague memory of ‘_difficult life, hurt by - something - ?' _How he’d been _‘full of hope when he was younger, full of optimism and enthusiasm - ’ _Something to that effect, anyway. She remembered wondering to herself what had happened to change him to the silent reserved itinerant she didn’t know and was vaguely interested in. Though whether she’d spoken that out loud was something only he would know. Damned if she could remember. She had a clearer memory of her feelings than her words.

That scar had thrown her thoughts right off, that was for sure, and her words were coming to her slower than usually. She'd wondered what had been the matter with her? Concluded she should've got more sleep. That maybe she was coming down with something. Lots of kids had been sniffing and coughing yesterday. Little germ farms, kids. 

Her heart had leapt as her finger traced the tell-tale Fate line. It predicted some kind of change, some turn of good fortune but, somehow, she couldn’t quite seem to find words to speak out -

Furiosa remembered feeling sickeningly self-conscious, and rightly so. If Keeper had been here to see this, she would’ve been quite sarcastic about it. _Cat got your tongue, girl? _ Furiosa could just hear her. With such a silent customer, she knew she should be encouraging them to _talk_, to say _why _they were there, to tell what was on their mind. Keeper would’ve been in her element with Security Guy. She _loved_ having a tough nut to crack. But Furiosa wasn’t Keeper, and today she was good for nothing, or so it seemed.

So Furiosa had gritted her teeth in frustration and said nothing. Hurriedly, she'd reached for the cards, half-afraid to glance at Security Guy. A seasoned punter would be feeling decidedly short-changed by now, getting irritated by her prolonged silence. But not him – he seemed fairly contented to wait and let her come to some profound conclusion at the end. Silence seemed to be his preferred element.

So - she'd fanned the cards out on the table, trying to ignore the tremor in her fingers. Furiosa was always a little nervous with the cards, mainly from a guilty sense that someone with as little faith as she had shouldn’t even be touching Keeper's deck. She had never admitted to the old woman how little she took the tools of the trade seriously. How could she? Keeper had trusted her with her cards, had always insisted Furiosa had a knack for them. _‘You don’t like the cards, pet, but the cards LOVE you’, _she would always say. How could Keeper _not _feel let down, betrayed even, if she knew how sceptical Furiosa really was?

If Furiosa was really honest, she thought tarot cards were just pretty pictures to amuse the customers. But, deep down, she had to admit that she’d never really given her training a chance. She never really felt like she'd had to. She was like a musician who could play by ear but had never bothered to learn to read music.

_Stop thinking. Focus._

She'd watched Security Guy frown as he turned over the first card: The Fool. Nobody ever liked to get that one, but she'd felt a stab of gladness run through her. “That’s good,” she'd murmured as much to herself as to him. “See it as a card for new beginnings – ” and urged him to try another. The Lovers came next, quickly followed by the High Priestess.

Cards or no cards, Furiosa usually had a very clear vision of the customer’s inner workings by this point in a reading. But on this occasion she couldn’t seem to fix her thoughts on anything. She felt - for want of a better description - blissed out. She was drifting in a warm, soft fog –

Her fingers drifted over the cards and she sighed long and deep -

“High Priestess?” Security Guy prompted.

She'd blinked awake in a panic - _What was wrong with her? Can’t focus, can’t get the words out – _

Furiosa was guiltily aware that she'd been burning the candle at both end for days now - it was definitely coming back to bite her on the ass. 

She'd set her mouth to autopilot while her mind reluctantly focused on the point at hand.

The cards. He was looking down at them, half-sceptical, half-musing, like he was actually trying to mould his sense of self around some random pieces of cardboard. She pulled herself together and attempted to wrap up the reading as quickly as possible. _New experiences, trust your inner voice, probably romance at some point - _

She’d probably done what she always did when she was feeling uncomfortable. Made an isn’t-this-all-so-ironic joke of it. Anything for a quick escape.

_Ugh, what a bloody shambles_, she'd thought, mentally kicking herself for handling a reading so poorly. Keeper would be disgusted. Thankfully Security Guy just seemed to be vaguely amused by the whole thing, pleasantly surprised if anything. The rain had stopped, she could feel him fidget - barely perceptibly - getting ready to leave. 

She'd glanced up at him, instinctively, _stupidly_ – Then, BOOM. That’s when it had happened.

*

Lying in her bunk, Furiosa screwed her eyes tight shut at the memory. She’d tried _so hard _not to meet his eye during the whole reading. But nevertheless, she’d glanced up just as he was looking at her and she’d had a fucking _psychic meltdown_.

She’d _wanted _to look at him, Mothers knew. While she was veiled and hooded, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to examine this mysterious guy who seemed to avoid talking to anyone, least of all her. He was sitting _just there, _across Keeper’s table. But she _knew _she couldn’t afford to meet someone’s eye - not here, not now.

_Not her_.

It was safe enough in the humdrum of daily routine. It wasn’t like Furiosa couldn’t look Dave the burger guy in the eye over the counter without having a psychic episode. She wasn’t quite that sensitive, thank god. But here in Keeper's tent? With all the trappings? It was just asking for trouble. 

It was always unnerving, and she didn’t much like the insights she got into other people’s lives. It always felt like she was invading their privacy.

But here, with Security Guy, their eyes had met and it had happened. And this time _she_ was the one who felt invaded. 

It was a bad one. _No_, she groaned for the hundredth time, rubbing her aching eyes, _it was a very good one_.

Too good, or at least too bright and beautiful not to leave a painful mark on her psychic retina. Just a flash; she’d hissed and shut her eyes tight, kept them shaded with her hand. But it was enough to trigger the worst bloody migraine she’d had in years. And enough to leave a haunting sadness behind. She’d seen something so wonderful and otherworldly that it hurt.

It was Love. 

An enveloping warmth, a searing heat, deep _joy and pain and joy again_. A calm contentment, and a fear of loss. All mixed together. Stretching out far, far ahead.

But she paid the price - here were those familiar flickering shimmering lights lurking at the edge of her vision. Sparkling tendrils like the pattern of lines on his right palm.

She had no memory of how the reading ended, just that her words had finally burst out through whatever barrier had been holding them in. _What the hell had she said to him?? _It was so disconcerting to have no memory of the thing at all -

He’d gone away, eventually – had he asked if she was alright? Yes, she was sure of that. And she had made her way back to her truck somehow.

*

Not long after, lying in her bunk with a sleep-mask and an ice pack and painkillers and a carefully placed bucket by her bed, she’d had plenty of time to think it over. She _wished _she’d heeded the warning spark. She wished she’d kept her eyes down. She also really wished she could remember _what she’d said to him_-

_Never, never would she do this again_, she raged into her damp pillow. This was all too much. She’d seen something she hadn’t meant to see, and she ended up weeping bitter tears. All with a longing for something she had no idea she ever wanted or needed. It was so absurd.

Exhausted, Furiosa stared blankly into the darkness behind her eyelids. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see it all again. _Feel_ it all again. What the _actual fuck _had happened? Yesterday morning he was just _some guy_. Someone whom she could pass by with no more of a thought than ‘_That is not an unattractive man’_. Now she had a devastating psychic crush on someone she’d barely exchanged two words with, and it really _hurt_. 

She had a sickening feeling she would never know peace again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, don't get mad -

Max was not destined to sleep well that day. 

He knew he should’ve trusted his first impulse to flee. If he’d stayed out in the rain, it would’ve been a wet and uncomfortable day’s sleep in the back of his car. But the price for shelter, it seemed, was the same in the end. Sleeplessness was to be his fate.

It was not an exaggeration to say that Max was seriously shook. And he was annoyed at himself for being so.

He should just laugh it off. Crazy mystical nonsense. He _knew_ what would happen when he sat down in that tent; why was it buzzing around in his head like a hyperactive bluebottle?

The fortune teller – she was just a really good actor. Eccentric, but that was all to her credit. It made her all the more memorable. Something different. He actually quite enjoyed it – at least before it’d got weird.

_She’d known his name. He hadn’t told anyone his name._

But no - that was just stupid. It was bound to be written down on some form somewhere, even if he _was_ being paid under the counter. Even travelling fairs probably had to do background checks on casual workers. Everyone here probably knew his name by now.

_Your dog’s waiting for you__._ That was another one. Dog _had_ been waiting. Max had almost tripped over her at the tent door.

But all the Fair people knew he had a dog. She went with him everywhere. It was a fairground, and Dog was small enough to find shelter nearby in a downpour. It was all easy enough to dismiss.

But – what she had said to him at the end -

_You will be – soon – you’ll look in their eyes and, oh Max, when it happens, you’ll know it – and everything’ll change –_

He couldn’t stop thinking about that. There was something equally intriguing and terrifying about the idea of catching someone’s eye and falling instantly in love with them. The idea that his fate wasn’t under his own control somehow. _Oh please. Of course it wasn’t. He wouldn’t be here if it was. _

He sat up, legs tangled in woollen plaid car-blankets, and stretched as much as he could in the confined space. He’d been staring at the Falcon’s ceiling for long enough now.

After a quick breakfast/supper at the food van, he and Dog began their rounds. A little early – it was barely gone seven - but it was nice to take a wander round before the fair closed up for the night and the blessed loneliness of his shift began -

He couldn’t shake this feeling - this kind of warm feeling - like he’d been promised something. Since this morning, being always alone didn’t seem like something to be cherished. _It might be nice to have someone - ? No, just - stop it with the crazy ideas – _

*

Returning to the security guards’ portacabin for closing handover, Max was painfully conscious that he’d avoided eye contact with _anyone_ during that whole twilight round. Convinced that Dog was judging him, he studiously avoided her eye too. A poor kind of security guard he was. Good job he was tasked with the night shift. Nobody around for a whole nine hours, if he was lucky.

The Day Guard ducked out the portacabin door as Max approached, cheerfully handed him the keys and bade him goodnight. Max nodded and patted him on the shoulder as he passed. _Good lad, that. _Max wondered if he’d got a date with the petting-zoo girl yet. Maybe he’d ask him about it at the morning handover. He knew he should probably chat more.

Stepping inside, he checked the kettle for water and switched it on to boil. It was always nice to sit on the steps with a coffee and watch the twilight colours change from lurid pink to deep deep green. Grabbing a chew for Dog, he reemerged into the evening air and settled down comfortably on the steps with his mug. Tilting his head upwards, he watched the last few clouds clear away. It was looking to be a starry one tonight. He liked those.

A movement caught his eye. What was that in the shadows? Someone short and skinny, head like a dark cloud – was that a kid? Certainly not _lurking_, particularly – but just hanging around, a little nervously -

Max checked his watch and frowned. Ten minutes to nine. Over the last hour, the crowds had diminished to stragglers in ones and twos. The kid – a girl, he supposed on account of the mess of curly hair – she looked way too young to be out alone. Got to be about seven or eight, no more.

“Hey” he called out, “it’s nearly closing time. You lost?”

She looked up at him, uncertain but not startled, like she wanted help but didn’t want to come and ask. She buried her hands deeper in her pockets and huffed a weary sigh.

“My mum’s around here somewhere, but it’s getting too dark to see. If I had my own _phone_ this wouldn’t happen,” she added pointedly.

Max was amused by her evident exasperation at the stupidity of adults and the universe in general. But her fear of being lost at night was evident, under all the bravado.

_Right, let’s sort this out -_

“What’s her name? I can put out a call on the loudspeaker. Don’t worry, it happens all the time.”

“_Uggghhhhh, _gonna be so embarrassing_,_” the girl writhed in agony before accepting the inevitability of the thing. “It’s Debbie. Debbie Ormerod. I’m Glory. Hey, is that your dog? Can I pet him?”

“Right. Uh, yes – you can. She’s a she. Name’s Dog.” As the girl trotted forward to sit on the steps by Dog, Max figured it was safe to go inside to make the announcement.

_Debbie Ormorod to security - your daughter’s here. Debbie Ormerod -_

But his finger was barely off the transmit button when he heard a woman’s voice outside, breathless and relieved.

“Glory! _Oh you - -_ ”

“I _told_ you I need a phone – dint I?” the girl cried in righteous indignation.

Max would’ve been quite happy to stay in the safety of the portcabin, but he still had some semblance of professional pride. He stuck his head out of the door to check the kid wasn’t somehow being kidnapped by a total stranger.

But all seemed well. The kid was rapturously hugging the woman, at least until she spotted Max and felt her level of cool was being undermined by such childish behaviour.

“Security man’s got a dog, ain’t she nice?” she exclaimed, letting go of her mother and pointing at Dog.

The woman stepped forward, not to pet Dog, but toward Max. “Thanks for putting the call out! I was at my wits end, but it had just occurred to me to try security. My daughter’s wiser than I am,” she observed with a nod at the kid.

Max didn’t know what to say. His intervention had been pretty much redundant. The kid and her mother obviously would’ve met here anyway, even if he’d been doing his rounds. But his tongue-tiedness stemmed largely from an even more undeniable fact: namely that this woman was very distracting, even in this half-light. From his elevated position, he could definitely see cleavage. He unfocused a little, blinked in horrified realisation and fixed his eyes on her face. Which, as it turned out, was no less distracting. He mumbled something incoherent and felt the heat in his face as a smile spread across her face. Her eyes crinkled in amusement, and something that looked like general approval. Of him.

He really couldn’t look away at that point. His mouth went dry.

“Could you I buy you a drink? To say thank you?” she asked, after a moment’s hesitation.

“Ohhhh um no I’m – I’m on nights - ” he gestured to the portacabin helplessly.

“Well – breakfast, maybe?” she suggested, with an arch smile.

Max nodded.

She handed him a business card. “How does nine sound? Or maybe you get off earlier?”

“Nine’s good,” Max croaked, nodding.

“The Bull okay?"

_Max nodded. The Bull's Head, he knew where that was._

"The chef does a pretty good breakfast. Especially after a long night’s work,” she added, with what could only be described as a twinkle.

She looked down at her daughter, who was still making a fuss of a delighted Dog. “Let’s go, kiddo. School tomorrow.”

“Bye, Dog. Bye, Security Man,” Glory waved. The woman stopped short and turned back.

“I never asked your name - ?”

“Max. It’s Max.”

“Max,” she repeated with a smile. And then they were gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Furiosa

Furiosa had a few false starts over the next forty-eight hours or so.

She lay in her bunk til sunrise the following day, sleeping fitfully, exhausted by pain and the emotions that she could neither justify nor understand. She felt feverish too, but put that down to spending too long in bed. _Surely_ she would be fine to get up -

But the glare of light from the cloudy dawn sky proved too much – she slammed the Rig door shut again and flopped back onto her bunk with a groan of hollow resignation. The headache was back, and she felt gross and clammy. Her stomach growled resentfully, aggrieved at this neglectful treatment. It had a point. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday, having ignored the soup that Capable had left on the small shelf by her bunk. She prodded at it, and her finger broke the thick skin that had formed atop the pea and ham goo. It might’ve been appetising twelve hours ago, but it was not a candidate for recovery breakfast.

She looked over at where her mobile lay, considering texting Cape. _No, it was far too early to go bothering people about breakfast. Besides, this wasn’t fucking Downton Abbey._ She had her dignity. And she was going to have to do this herself.

*

“Shit, Fury – you had a rough night or somethin’? You look – uh – kinda - ”

Furiosa peered at Dave the coffee guy behind her sunglasses. Big Dave in his beard-net was a perplexing sight for her frazzled brain to process. Plus, the smell of frying bacon was - _challenging_. He must've took the squint for a glare because he kept his thoughts to himself as regarded her appearance. For this she was grateful. She felt shitty; undoubtedly she looked shitty, but she really didn’t need to be told so.

“Toast,” she croaked.

“She's over there, by the range,” Dave pointed over Furiosa’s shoulder with a huge sausage finger. Furiosa regarded it for a moment, wondering if you ended up looking like what you worked with. _She_ had a mechanical arm, after all. “No - ” she sighed, summoning her strength for more words. “Can you _make_ me some toast?”

“Hah, right, I get ya," he guffawed, reaching for the bread bag. "What you want on it?”

“Nothing,” she shuddered, shaking her head. Very carefully.

Dave grinned in sympathy.

*

Furiosa woke up six hours later, face down in her bunk. The sheet was all over toast crumbs, which reinforced her decision to get up. Nobody in the history of humanity had ever got comfortable under those conditions

She got up, carefully, and blinked for a moment. Assessed her condition. Cautiously optimistic, she grabbed her shower caddy and climbed out of the Rig.

*

“Fury! There you are!” Capable cried. “We’ve been looking for you! Feeling better? You look better!”

Furiosa straightened up and stretched her back. She was feeling much better. After her shower, she’d tried her hand at some work and had actually been immersed in it for some time. She hadn't even noticed Ace switch on the lamp - it was getting to twilight already. She felt something akin to satisfaction. With the boost in mood that comes when a person no longer feels like death, she felt _amazing_. Comparatively speaking. The last day or so had set the bar pretty low. Yep, she almost felt back to normal.

As long as she didn’t think about –

“Is she here?" Cheedo scampered in, looking delighted. "Oh Fury, you will _never_ believe what’s happened. It’s just like Cinderella!”

Furiosa frowned questioningly at Capable. _What was this now?_

Capable's eyes crinkled into what, for her, was a smile. Furiosa looked away. She didn't know what words were waiting to be spoken, but she knew in her gut she wouldn't like them.

“Security Guy told Nux he had a _date_ \- I mean, he didn't _call_ it that, but it sounded like a date.”

_Max_

Furiosa barely heard her friend’s words. _Where had that name come from? She knew where, she had just forgotten._

“With Debbie O! Can you believe it?”

Furiosa took a sharp breath and glanced up at Cheedo, who clutched her hands to her heart dramatically.

_My Fool -_

Everything seemed a little far away – _her __head was going numb - that can't be good -_

“Glory was lost," Capable's voice cut clear through the ringing in her ears. " - and Security Guy found her, and Debbie O _asked him out_ and he said yes, and Toast saw them in the Bull looking _very_ cosy – Toast is _spewing_ about it, as you might imagine – and y'know what else - ?”

“His name’s Max!" Cheedo cut in blithely. "He's told Nux his name! HE'S FINALLY LETTING PEOPLE IN! How lovely is that??” 

Capable caught Furiosa's reluctant eye and her face clouded with frowning concern. She stepped toward Furiosa with determination written all over her face. “Oh Fury - You should go back to bed, you’re so pale, look at you. Come on, come with us, you’re alright - " she took Furiosa's unresisting arm. "No, you are _not _fine, you should see yourself - ” 

“Aw, you poor thing,” Cheedo tutted in sympathy, opening the workshop door for her friends. “I wish you would try one of Dag’s teas, they’re really not that bad - ”

Furiosa muttered protests as a matter of form, but they carried no conviction. She wasn't sick, not like she had been, but she longed to escape, take refuge. Quiet. Alone. But as they walked with her towards the Rig, her pace slowed a little. She began to realise what the night had in store. Her Rig, own private space, no distractions - it wouldn't be a refuge. It would be torture. Now she knew - those images that played and played again in her head - now she knew who would be receiving - well, _everything_. The missing part of the puzzle had slammed into place, and it resounded in her ears like the clang of a prison door -

_Shit. It was going to be a tough night._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All that glitters -

_Cheedo was right_, Furiosa told herself, as she took a deep breath of morning air. It _was _a Cinderella story. It was a beautiful day, the sun shone, the dew positively sparkled and the whole world was smiling. Furiosa smiled, too, at everyone she passed. And, if she wore her huge sunglasses to hide the traces of a sleepless night, no-one would think anything amiss.

It was perfect morning for the happy ending of a Cinderella story. She’d never heard of a version where the Fairy Godmother was hopelessly in love with Cinderella and had to force a smile at the royal wedding, but life was like that sometimes.

She had done a good thing.

That thought sustained her throughout the day and into the evening. It sustained her through the gossip – how Max had been seen buying a smart shirt yesterday afternoon in the precinct. _Quite right_, Toast had said. He’d had the audacity to show up for brunch at the Bull in his scruffy work gear, or so it was said. _Men never did make an effort_, Toast had grumbled, _and Debbie looking so good too. But Debbie always looked amazing._

It almost sustained her when Dag swore blind she’d seen Max come out of Debbie’s front door at two-thirty today, _scrubbed clean and all shagged out, not a word of a doubt_. Thanks for that, Dag.

And as the sun dropped low over Tin Can Alley, she watched him show Glory how to shoot. She saw the look of delight on his face as the kid pinged the top can clean off the pile. She looked on in pity as Glory pointed at Toast’s _true_ weapon of choice: the passive aggressive Word of the Day sign. Today it was ‘heteronormative’. Good luck explaining _that_ on the spot to your new girlfriend’s seven-year-old. Toast had her own way of expressing her woman-scorned status, that was for sure.

Max's discomfiture would be forgotten soon enough. Here she comes - Debbie O walking toward him like some kind of sunset-flame goddess. Sure enough, he straightened up like a man who didn’t know what day it was. A smile was smiled, a kiss kissed. His arm draped comfortably around her shoulders, they turned and walked off – in slow motion, it seemed – and Furiosa’s eyes followed Debbie O’s hand as it slipped into Max’s back pocket and gave his ass a familiar squeeze.

Furiosa didn’t look away. She had done a good thing, if she had done anything at all. Two people were blissfully happy – no, three people, as Glory skipped alongside hugging her prize. This was all good.

Shame she’d gone and got caught in the crossfire, but that was her only regret. Well, they’d all be moving on soon. Max had finally found his home. She would forget.

*

She couldn’t even resent Debbie O. If anyone in this town was Prince Charming to Max’s Cinderella, it was her. And of all her apparent suitors, all the Rotary Club’s finest, tonight she had an unassuming security guard on her arm. It was something remarkable, really.

Because everyone was a little in love with Debbie O. She was something of a local celebrity. Technically, the town’s most famous export was Bobby Parks; signed for some huge soccer team or other and a national hero for those who followed the game. For those who didn’t, he was that guy married to the tall one from The Mojito Girls.

But, locally, he was more commonly known as ‘Debbie O’s Ex’. They’d been teenage sweethearts, married young, had a kid, split not long after he hit the big time. Predictable enough. But Debbie O wasn’t bitter and certainly not crushed. She used the divorce money to buy a bar, made it the best in town. A successful businesswoman, a pillar of the community and _ridiculously_ good-looking; she was the queen bee of this little town. And, in direct contravention of every stereotype going, she was also very difficult to dislike. Honest and funny and transparent as glass, but smart and shrewd with it.

In the timescale of settled people, Furiosa didn’t know Debbie O from Adam. But she and the girls were carnival folk, had been all their lives, more or less. Staying in one place for no more than a few months at a time, they could take the measure of people and communities pretty quickly. And, when people praised Debbie O to the skies, Furiosa could not argue. Even if she really wanted to. Like now, for example.

It looked like Max’s luck really had changed, just as Furiosa had predicted.

*

Max had no doubt that Debbie was special. He’d certainly thought so at least three times that morning, but a man’s thinking brain could be a little biased under those circumstances. But now, after what felt like hours of sleep in a _bed_, he’d been lying awake looking at her for at least fifteen minutes. Bright hair spread out in long coils on her pillow, pink lips parted in sleep, just inches from his shoulder. All soft curves and warm breath. She was _perfect_. Max was bewildered. Intelligent and funny and beautiful, and she liked _him_. How could something like this have happened?

It was perfect. _She_ was perfect.

_Then how come - ? _Max shook his head at the thought that would keep jabbing his bliss with a sharp stick. No, he was just trying to sabotage his own happiness. It was only their second date, for God’s sake.

_You’ll look in their eyes and, oh Max, when it happens, you’ll know it – and everything’ll change –_

His chest tightened in panic as he replayed her words for the hundredth time. Everything had certainly changed. So why didn’t he _know?_

Max felt like he was being carried along by some kind of whirlwind. It'd been just two days since things had taken a crazy turn. That fortune teller – and then out of the blue, he had a date – the kid had hinted that maybe it was a _nice_ kinda place to go for a date - he'd offered to keep Dog for the day – and it certainly was not what Max’d been expecting, true enough. Tablecloths. Water glasses. And she – Debbie – was there like it was a photoshoot. God, he could've sunk through the floor. Showing up like something the cat dragged in. _Fool._ But she was lovely about it – never said a thing, not even a sidelong look at his smudged jeans and grubby fingernails. Turned out she owned the place.

Truth be told, he wouldn’t have shown up if it hadn't been for the fortune teller. He would’ve ducked out of it for sure. But he’d been _expecting_ it somehow – it didn’t make any sense, but he had been – it felt like a journey he’d already begun. Problem was, he had no idea where he was going. He should be having a great time. He _was _having a great time. But it wasn’t just the idea of a brief fling with a single mother that was unsettling him – sure, it seemed wrong to sleep with her and not – necessarily – have intentions. But Christ, it'd been the twenty-first century for quite a while now. She’d hardly been lingering in front of ring shops – _not yet, anyway_ \- Max took a deep breath to calm the rising panic – and let it out slowly. No. It wasn’t the idea of running out that worried him.

It was that – well, _why _didn’t he know? He should _know_. She’d said so.

_Maybe I’m just broken. Maybe I can’t feel that way that anymore._ The idea terrified him.

She shifted by his side, a warm hand ran up his chest, a bare leg wrapped around his.

“Mmph,” she groaned, sounding contented and sleepy. “Hey - ” she murmured in his ear.

“Hey,” he smiled. How could he help it? It wasn’t her fault.

She looked at him a long time, her eyes soft and serious and he felt a dread seize him. _Don’t – don’t say ‘I love you’, please no - _

"Think that's gotta be our lot for today. School’s out soon – Glory’ll be home in - ” she craned her neck to look at the bedside alarm, “ – about an hour, maybe less.”

"Shit - yeah - " Max sat up like a shot, leaned on an elbow and looked around the bedroom. It looked like a typhoon had hit it. “Uhh I should help you clear up - ”

She leaned in and kissed him lingeringly. “No. _You _need a shower. Dirty boy - ” she murmured against his lips, before stumbling out of bed. It was very true. He definitely needed a shower.

Grabbing his clothes, what he could find of them, he had an idea. “You doing anything tonight?”

“What you got in mind?” she called from the bathroom.

“The Fair? You could bring Glory.”

Debbie stuck her head round the door and tossed him a towel “That sounds lovely. It’s a date.”

Max nodded to himself. The third date. That was bound to do it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stop this ride, I want to get off

This was getting really tiresome. It shouldn't be this difficult.

They were due to leave town in – what – ten days? And the fair itself would only be open for another four.

Only four days to be faced with the man she loved – _let’s not mince matters_ – getting all cosy with the woman _she _predicted would be the love of his life. But she only had be faced with it when they were at the Fair together, which had only been once. It probably wouldn't happen again. It was his workplace, after all. They probably wouldn’t choose to spend their free time there.

She just had to keep busy and stay out of the obvious town hangouts – it wasn't like there were that many of them – and she would be fine.

It was just a shame that her dearest friends were highly observant. And incorrigible gossips.

*

_And here we are with another sleepless night._ She’d done her best. She’d stayed off electronic devices. She’d read a page and a half of a very dull book that had been sitting by her bed gathering dust for a year. She’d utterly exhausted herself today with all the lifting and fetching and carrying she could think of. But yet, sleep was on the distant horizon, and the mental image of the day’s reported happenings kept playing in her immediate vision. It was like she was an unwilling Odin, whose ravens were utterly out of control and _really really nosy_.

The girls – and now Nux – had apparently nothing better to talk about.

Cheedo and Dag were a regular source of gossip, and their back-and-forth had pretty much become background noise by now. A baseline. As long as Furiosa had known them, Cheedo had always befriended new acquaintances while, as a counterbalance, Dag found delight in observing other people’s foibles and cackling over them. Their benevolence and misanthropy were universal and unprejudiced.

But, over the last few days, the others had all developed their own personal interest in the guy. Max was Nux’s new best mate, it seemed. Toast was still aggrieved that Debbie would choose to date Max rather than her – even though she’d never even asked her out. And Capable had a new interesting focus for her theories on the human condition.

The theories were the worst of all. Furiosa might be able to put the whole thing to bed, figuratively speaking, if it wasn’t for them.

Capable thought Max didn’t look _happy._ She thought he looked uncomfortable. So much so that Cape had taken to shielding him from what she thought was unwanted attention from Debbie O’s friends. She’d seen them talking in conclave, looking over at Max and the kid at Tin Can Alley. She’d seen them, _en masse_, walk towards the shooting range. Friendly enough, but visibly curious. _Max was about to get grilled_, Capable declared. And that he was painfully aware of it was obvious, she said, from the look of panic on his face. She could see he wasn’t going to try and escape – there was no way out that wouldn’t look really obvious – but he was clearly dreading the attention.

So Capable had called Nux, asked him to bring Benny the Horse to the performing area _right away_. Which he had done, obviously. And accordingly, there had only been time for initial greetings and introductions before the whole party were distracted by an impromptu performance by Benny the Fabulous. _It was bound to work_, Cape shrugged modestly as Nux loudly praised her quick thinking. _Who didn't love a Shetland pony, especially one who could do dressage? _And Benny’s piaffe was second to none.

Capable was very proud of her heroic rescue, more convinced than ever of Max’s discomfiture.

But Furiosa was sceptical.So Max was uncomfortable being the centre of attention? Big woop. You couldn't read anything into that.

*

“What’s up with Toast?”

Nux had been lamenting his ruffled feelings in the kitchen while Furiosa had been making a bedtime mug of hot milk. She'd seen it all kick off earlier - hadn’t heard what it’d been about but, from her viewpoint, the encounter had looked exactly like a Labrador getting flown at by an angry kitten.

“Oh - she’s just being a brat," Cape grumbled. "She’s got the hots for Debbie O, and she’s huffing because she hasn’t got what she wants. You know how she can get."

The girls were getting impatient with Toast’s wounded indignation, Furiosa knew. Even the sympathy of best friends will cool somewhat when it’s having no discernible effect. 

“Hmm – that kinda sucks though,” Nux had added, after a reflective pause. “Imagine - say you really like – someone – ? And they end up with somebody else - ” he blushed hotly and fiddled with his jacket cuff. “It’d be awful," he muttered.

She glanced at Capable just in time to see her eyelids drop and the corner of her mouth tuck up very slightly. And was that a blush? Furiosa smiled despite herself. _Oh, these kids._ _Only a matter of time - _

*

Round and round we go –

Waking up from yet another short doze, she reached for her phone. 4.30. Ugh. Furiosa rolled over in her bunk and froze.

_What was that? _

Heart pounding, she quieted her breathing and listened. Yes, definitely something. A distant shout? Ten seconds later, she stood in the dripping and still pre-dawn, gripping the baseball bat she kept under her bunk. Listening, listening. All was quiet – had she imagined it?

Angry voices – men’s voices, two of them – sounds of a struggle -

Her heart in her mouth, she ran, following the racket. Was it coming from near the Security portacabin?

Her foot connected with something that skittered away into a pool of light. A torch, lying on the ground. She grabbed it and clicked it on, turned the corner –

There was an angry Max, restraining a man against the portacabin wall. He looked round in surprise at the beam of light and promptly got an elbow in the gut. Max staggered back and the man turned to bolt. Max grabbed at him and they both went down with a splash into a muddy puddle, all fists and elbows. Furiosa yelled HEY! and leapt forward to weigh in. 

_Hang on – is that - ?_ She shone the torchlight on Max's antagonist, and recognised him. _Oh for God's sake._

“SLIT?! Stop that right now!” she bellowed in her sternest voice. And it still worked, like it always had. The man froze mid punch, as did Max. If Furiosa could’ve taken a picture at that point, it would be prize material. Nux’s pain-in-the-ass cousin looking like he’d just piddled his pants, and Max wearing his very finest look of perplexity. And, for some reason, only one boot.

“What are you _doing_ here?" she demanded. "You broke in? Jesus, Slit - ” Furiosa reached into her pocket for her phone.

“No, don’t call the police - ” Slit wailed, leaping to his feet with a hand outstretched imploringly.

Furiosa rolled her eyes and waved him off. “I’m calling _your cousin?_ Presumably that’s who you came to see? Yeah? Right, so can I trust you two not to kill each other for a moment?”

“Pfft. No danger here,” Slit scoffed. “I had him easy enough.”

_Oh, clearly,_ Furiosa thought, remembering Slit’s face squashed sideways against the portacabin wall, pinned in Max’s armlock.

Max evidently didn't think this declaration merited a response. He wiped at his bloody lip and shook his head in exasperation. Feeling a little guilty at losing him his advantage by her sudden appearance, Furiosa stepped forward and held out a hand to help him out of the puddle he currently sat in.

He'd barely got to his feet before she turned away and flexed her fingers. Her hand tingled from the touch, the way their hands had fit together so snugly for that fleeting moment, the grip sure and instantaneous -

She shook her head. What was she doing? Oh yes. She turned her attention to her mobile – 

“Nux? I need you at Security. Yes, now. _Yes, I know what time it is_. You’ve got a visitor.” She hung up and glanced over her shoulder. The two were glowering at each other, but their ruffled feathers were settling. Speaking rather than shouting was good progress too. She heard a door slam in the distance, and Nux's loping run getting closer. No need to stay and act as peacekeeper.

She turned and walked away.

*

Max watched the mysterious hooded woman turn away and disappear into the floodlit haze. It was definitely the same one – the hungover woman in the hoodie and sunglasses who’d almost collided with him a few mornings ago. She’d been at the Fair this evening too - he’d noticed her standing in the sunset watching the crowd. The way she’d spoken to this guy, and Nux too – she had a definite air of authority about her. Who was she? The voice sounded kind of familiar, but he couldn’t place it -

“Hey. Who _was _that?” he asked the arsehole boot-stealing trespasser, whose name he hadn’t caught. The guy stopped brushing the dirt off himself and looked at Max like that was the dumbest question he’d ever heard.

“Batman,” he replied sarcastically.

_Shithead. _Max gave him a sour look and turned away, straight into a second beam of torchlight. He swore and covered his eyes.

“SLIT!!”

Someone – Nux, presumably - yelled delightedly and bounded forward to enclose the stranger in a bear hug. “What you doin’ here?” he chuckled, holding the man and arm’s length and giving him a shake. The trespasser – aptly-named, now Max got a proper look at him – grinned at the kid and looked almost sheepish, though not as sheepish as someone who should be expecting to get the cops called on him as soon as Max got near a phone.

*

Max’s wrath had somewhat abated after five minutes with a towel in the relatively warm interior of the portacabin. He was barely fuming at all by the time Nux had handed him a mug of cocoa and a packet of Jaffa Cakes. It was kind of hard to stay mad with the kid talking nineteen to the dozen, even if his arsehole cousin _had_ climbed the fence to get in at 4am as a ‘surprise’. Max could almost laugh about it now. The guy _really_ hadn't expected to get collared sneaking about at that hour. Seems a night-shift security guard was a relatively recent addition to the Fair’s personnel.

But, of course, it didn’t do to look anything other than extremely pissed off. This Slit guy might be Nux’s favourite cousin, but he was clearly something of an arsehole and didn’t deserve to get off lightly. Especially since Max’s boot was still on the portacabin roof where the wanker had thrown it. He’d have to remember to go up and get it before it got light.

“Remind me why I’m not calling the coppers right now?” Max asked, innocently dunking a Jaffa Cake in his cocoa.

Slit only glared at him and fidgeted. It was Nux who spoke. “Max, now - I know you’re mad, and you’ve every right to be. But think of it this way. This flamin’ idiot here has _just signed for the Chromies_, and it’ll look pretty bad for him if he’s got a mugshot in his first week, yeah? And he won’t do it again - willya, Slit?” 

Slit made a face and shook his head.

“And he’s very sorry for chucking your boot on the roof and he’ll go up and get it as long as he’s very careful?”

Slit grunted affirmative. That would probably be as good as he’d get. Max sniffed, “Well, I dunno. The law’s the law, and I’d be a poor kind of security guard if - ”

Nux interrupted him by springing to his feet, with a gesture that could only be described as jazz hands. A grin was spreading across the kid’s face like a slow sunrise. “I think I know how we can make this go away. Max – you like ice hockey?” Max shrugged. Nux turned to his cousin. “You get us four tickets to tomorrow night’s opening match and Max’ll say no more about it. Ain't that right, Max?”

Nux winked and mugged at Max, mouthing the words _DOUBLE DATE!_. Max’s eyebrows lifted and he thought for a second. “Throw in a kid’s ticket and we’ll call it quits.” He shrugged at Nux’s questioning look. Babysitters didn’t grow on trees, least not at short notice. _Well, that’s the fourth date sorted_, he thought as Slit and Nux spat on their palms and shook on it.

Did Debbie like ice hockey? Did Glory? He didn’t know. His fingers clenched as a flood of unease swamped him. He still didn’t know a single bloody thing about anything at all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dignity is sometimes a slippery thing to keep hold of

There he stood, arms folded across his chest. Dark goggles, grim expression. But damn - it’s hard to carry off the don’t-mess-with-me look when you’ve got two or three kids hanging off you. Furiosa couldn’t help but grin at the sight, for all that it was so familiar. For all his bald head, gnarled face and brick-shithouse build, Ace exuded the Fun Uncle vibe from every pore, and kids had a talent for knowing whose pockets were fair game for sweets and interesting things and fascinating sharp objects. Puppy piles would be a regular occurrence in Ace’s vicinity almost as soon as he stepped out of the garage.

Ace was standing in for Nux this afternoon. He had the hi-vis jacket on and everything. It kind of killed the nightclub bouncer effect but he insisted on being properly dressed.

Early that morning Nux had come to her, wringing his hands in an uncharacteristically sheepish manner. Furiosa, ever-paranoid, had wondered what the hell he’d done and was relieved when he only asked for a half-day that afternoon. Seems Slit had got him hockey tickets and he had a date with Capable!

And Max. And Debbie. A double date. _That’s – that’s nice_.

She agreed, of course, distractedly congratulated him and wandered off to muse – about logistics and that sort of thing.

_Well,_ Furiosa figured, _if Nux gets a half day then Max got to get time off too. Can’t have him falling asleep on the job._ Paid, of course. She wasn’t a monster, for all that she did represent the human resources department of this mickey mouse outfit.

But, arguably, they still needed Security. What if a kid got lost? Or an army of bogans attacked the Fairground? A nuclear strike, even? Well, it was obvious. Ace was their man, of course. Naturally.

And that meant that Furiosa had sole responsibility for the mechanics pool today. _Thank fuck for that._ This lurking in the shadows was getting tiresome and she felt she was running out of excuses. This way she could stay tucked safely away in the garage _all day long_ and nobody could pass any remarks on it. A few more days to go and they would be hitting the road. She wasn’t made for this Fairy Godmother malarkey. It wasn’t her idea of a good time.

But had she paced herself? No she had not. It was three pm and the workload for today was exhausted and Furiosa would have to sit twiddling her thumbs ‘til evening.

Her hand shot out to grab her mobile as it pinged. Please be a distraction - 

_Hey fury can you pick me up? Bus substitution and you know how I get *barf emoji*_

Furiosa punched the air.

Angharad. And, yes, Furiosa know how she hated buses. Pausing on the way out the door, she scribbled a note for Ace that she was borrowing Dorothy. Her bike would hardly do for a heavily pregnant pillion passenger and her two-day baggage.

Furiosa drove out the Fairground gates in the pickup with rejoicing in her heart. Angharad’s mother’s place was over an hour away and it’d be good to have a chat on the way back. Furiosa could lay out the last couple of day’s weirdnesses in her own way, to fresh ears. Angharad was a good listener, and wise with it.

Plus a good tune was on the radio and she was on the motorway. Things were surely on the up.

*

She didn’t get out of the truck and Angharad’s mother didn’t ask her to. Marion waved from the front door though, which was good enough. Furiosa waved back. She was satisfied if Angharad looked contented, and she did.

It had always been a strained relationship, as far as Furiosa understood. Teenage Angharad was a frequent runaway who called home one day out of the blue to say she wasn’t coming home this time. Reason being, she’d married an older man.

Not hugely surprising that they’d had zero communication for years. Furiosa could understand that it would take time and effort to reconnect. But Marion _would_ be a grandmother, and that was an immediate bond - even if the baby’s father _was_ a gaslighting sex offender jailbird.

Mother and daughter were trying, and that was the important thing.

“So – what’d I miss?” Angharad asked brightly.

_What indeed?_

“Well – Capable and Nux have a date - ” Furiosa offered. “Chromies match, this afternoon.”

Angharad made a scrunched-up face. “Awww. Good for her. It’s about time.”

“That’s what Dag said,” Furiosa nodded. She didn’t mention how Dag had added _‘Get some young meat, why don’t you – about time after that wrinkled old ass’_. How the other girls had growled at her for it. Dag had only been a little abashed. She knew she was right. Furiosa knew too, although it was only Dag who would say it outright. Why should Cape shy away because a man was younger than her? It hadn’t put Joe off. Far from it.

“On the other hand, Toast’s a bit upset - ” Furiosa continued with a sigh. “Debbie O’s got a man. Looks like it’s for keeps. She hasn’t taken it well.”

Angharad took a resigned breath. “I’ll have a word with her.” She was silent for a moment, then brightened and turned to Furiosa. “Yeah but what’s new with you? It’s almost time to roll out. You stressing? I bet you’re stressing. Huh?” she added with a knowing smile.

“Ah, ‘s not too bad. Pretty much all under control, I think. Thank God for Ace. I was a bit off-colour last day or two.” Furiosa made a face. “Back on my feet now though.”

“That sucks,” she tutted, then looked full at Furiosa, with a hint of irritation in her voice. “Was it after the reading? Jeez, this is becoming a pattern, Fury. Keeper’s gotta stop going AWOL. You can’t keep standing in for her if it knocks you off your feet for days." 

“It’s been a while though – not like it happens _every_ time,” Furiosa countered, knowing full well that it happened too bloody often.

“Yeah but - still. You gotta take care of yourself,” Angharad reached over and squeezed her hand. “If you won’t for yourself, do it for us." 

*

They pulled up in the high street just as the two couples walked past. Angharad wound down the window and waved out at them, and Cape and Nux hurried up to grab her bags out of the back. Angharad kissed Furiosa on the cheek and got out, having extracted a promise to see her in an hour and no later.

It was Cheedo’s eighteenth birthday and they were having a big night out in the Bull. The moment the venue was decided upon, Furiosa had known it would be a challenge. And since Max and Debbie were there already, they would most certainly be invited to the party.

Tight-lipped, Furiosa shivered at the thought of it. As soon as Angharad and her bags were safely delivered onto the pavement, she called out the passenger window to the immediate trio, “Gonna take Dorothy back, see you all later!” She floored the accelerator and was gone.

Escape, glorious escape. For now, anyway.

*

Debbie wasn’t on the rota tonight, but Max knew she liked to do the rounds of the bar and kitchen once a day regardless. He lifted his eyes from the dogeared newspaper to watch her examine some paperwork on a clipboard and give a satisfied nod. A smile and a laugh with her bar manager and she turned to the end of the bar where Max sat with his complimentary beer.

Of course he hadn’t been bored - he rarely was. He’d been watching the kids from the Fair come trooping into the bar and assemble round the big table at the far end of the room. Capable and Cheedo and Dag and the pregnant one that’d arrived as they were coming back from the game. There was a huge foil helium balloon in the middle of the table emblazoned with a gold ‘18’. It was surrounded by a growing pile of brightly wrapped parcels and cocktail pitchers. It looked like it was setting up to be quite a night.

“Hey there, smiler,” Debbie leant over the bar to kiss his cheek as a familiar song came on the sound system.

_Sunny – yesterday my life was filled with rain – You smiled at me and really eased the pain –_

Max tried to ignore the weight that settled on his chest and threatened to suffocate him.

He nodded in the direction of the assembly. “Just Cheedo’s birthday,’ he huffed a chuckle and met her bright eyes which crinkled in response. She opened her mouth to speak, just as the door was flung open and slammed into the wall. A loud voice declared –

“Fuckin’ hell, this place is fancy! Used to be a right shithole!”

Max’s shoulders tensed even more. It was the scarfaced cousin, following closely by Nux. who looked not a little pained. Max’s eye immediately shot to those seated at the table. Capable smiled a greeting at the new arrivals but there was definitely a little line between her eyebrows that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Dag was looking daggers and Angharad inspected the rambunctious cousin appraisingly.

Cheedo leapt to her feet and waved them over.

“Oh God, he’s back,” came a strangled voice from the far end of the bar. Max and Debbie turned to the manager enquiringly.

“Who?” Debbie asked, warily.

“_That_ guy. Slit. He’s barred. He’s SO barred.” The manager – was he called Barry? – removed something from a pinboard on the wall and flourished it at them. A photo. Debbie and Max peered at it. A teenager grimacing and giving the finger. He looked a good bit younger but was instantly recognisable. Nux’s cousin, without a doubt.

“First person I ever barred – not long after we opened, it was. I think you were away that week, Deb.”

“Why, what’d he do?”

Probably-Barry spluttered and flailed in way that spoke volumes. 

Nostrils flared combatively, Debbie turned to the pair who were crossing the floor towards the party. “Right – HEY, YOU! Can I have a word, _please?_”

Nux and the cousin paused in confusion. Debbie beckoned them over. They both stood by the bar in trepidation, clearly expecting a dressing-down. Impressed, Max watched with interest.

Debbie glared at the cousin. “You. _You’re_ barred. Go on, scoot.”

“Why, what’d _I _do?” the cousin protested, flushing red and looking very conscious despite the big-eyed innocent expression.

Most-likely-Barry huffed, with his arms folded across his chest “He knows what he did.” 

Slit groaned and jiggled on his toes for a moment, looking defeated. “Okay – but – oh, okay - ”

Max looked between a crestfallen Nux and the concerned and rubbernecking party at the table. Then back at Debbie, whose stern look appeared to be cracking ever so slightly. She gave a half-relenting sign and frowned at the shamefaced offender. “Hmph. Well. Since it’s a special occasion, you can stay. If your friends can vouch for you. Any trouble and you’re _all _barred, alright?”

He saw her give a barely perceptible wink to Nux who could barely contain himself. “He’ll be good – I promise. Won’t ya, Slit? Best behaviour!” 

Slit – that was his name – clutched his hands in front of him in a way that could be perceived as either mocking or penitent but, judging by his red face, was genuine enough. He nodded and mumbled a promise and thankyou and walked away scratching his ear sheepishly.

It was Max’s turn to lean in and kiss her cheek. “Handled that nicely.”

“Meh,” she shrugged, looking round her empire. “Nux is a nice kid, it’ll probably be right. And he wasn’t wrong, y’know? This place did used to be a shithole. It’s come a long way.” She looked at Max earnestly and nodded towards where the newcomers joined the party. “And I’m guessing people can improve too, if they put their mind to it.”

“’S true,” Max nodded thoughtfully. Such a glow of admiration for her had flared up in his chest that could almost be mistaken for something else, but that was probably just wishful thinking. _If only –_

*

Furiosa had managed to get herself tucked into a shady corner seat without much ado. She observed the minor altercation at the bar. Slit seemed to be involved, which was nothing very remarkable. Had he been thrown out of here once? She’d heard something like that. It was just before he went off on his hockey scholarship, so she hadn’t made a fuss. But folks tended to remember these things, and it looked like it hadn’t been forgotten.

Furiosa grabbed her drink as Cheedo almost knocked it over. The birthday girl had had a few already, and the effects were beginning to show. Furiosa glanced at her watch. _Still early, oh boy._ Well, it was inevitable. Cheedo had a lot of well-wishers in this town and they did keep bringing them over. Her girl was looking a little flushed and starry eyed and, as she stood to greet Slit, she was as unsteady as she was genuine.

Dag was another matter. She’d been glaring at Slit from the moment he came in the door. And as they approached the table, she sang to herself ‘_Roll along, roll along, roll along, roll ‘long Big Wheel - ’_

The whole table looked at her uncomfortably. That was one of Dag and Toast’s favourite karaoke numbers and they were all very aware it was a jibe at the newcomer. Surely Slit wouldn’t pick up on her meaning, though - ? 

Furiosa’s eyes swept back to Nux and Slit. Nux looked mercifully oblivious, but Slit’s hurt was plain to see. He looked at Dag like he’d been slapped, and Furiosa felt a little sorry for him. Dag clearly felt a little abashed, or at least surprised and impressed by his taste in music accompanied by a degree of self-awareness. Because she pushed her chair back and announced she was getting a round in and asked Slit what he was drinking.

“Vodka and coke – make it a double,” he fired back. Dag barely checked her stride to the bar, but Furiosa definitely detected a wry smile and a barely perceptible shake of the head. She concluded – or at least hoped – that an uneasy peace had been struck.

Toast came sauntering in while Dag was at the bar. Angharad fidgeted a little uncomfortably and visibly sagged with relief as a red-eyed Toast nodded a greeting, amicably enough. Furiosa had meant to ask Angharad how her ‘word’ with Toast had gone. From the look of it, Angharad had given Toast a fairly large piece of her mind, perhaps more than she had intended. But, however unpalatable the pep talk or lecture had been, it had clearly been digested by their young friend. Toast looked less angry than she had in days, though much subdued. She greeted Slit like an old friend and proceeded to quiz him on his doings over the last five years, was Canada a freezing godforsaken hellhole? and how many moose he’d shagged? That sort of thing. It appeared to be going reasonably well. As Slit was regaling them all with a tale involving beer and hot sauce, Furiosa zoned out -

She hadn’t been watching _him_, she’d been paying determined attention to the conversation at the table. But for all that, she’d observed every exchange and movement. How he’d looked at Debbie with that little smile that suited him so well, how he’d leaned in and kissed her cheek. The two of them had talked cosily for a few moments before she was hailed by some locals. Then Max lapsed into a brown study. He had a newspaper but never turned the page, just stared into the middle distance, his brow furrowed in thought. Furiosa wondered what he could be thinking of, to look so tense.

_Perhaps he’s got a ring in his pocket right now -_

Furiosa was snapped out of her speculations by a nudge to the shoulder. It was Dag, back from the bar, and she was staring intently at Furiosa like she was expecting a reply.

“I was trying to get Max to come over. Dozy bastard’s in a world of his own, doesn’t even see me waving at him. Oh, _you_ try, Nux, for fuck’s sake, or he’ll sit there at the bar all by himself ‘til fucking Armageddon,” she informed them, evidently struck by a rare fit of amiability.

Furiosa tensed as Nux called out to Max at the bar and Max blinked and turned and looked at them all and moved as if thinking of getting up and joining them and _she couldn’t do this -_

Just then the door opened and a crowd of women filed into the bar, all dressed up to the nines. They laughed and called out to each other and made a general commotion which Furiosa, no longer frozen in her seat, used to her advantage. The exit was blocked but there was the ladies right _there._ She muttered in Capable’s ear about _having to take a call_. Then bolted for the brushed steel door.

Thankfully it was empty. But how long could she hide in here? One of the girls could come in at any moment and she would have to go out and join them. She couldn’t sit at a table with Max, could she? This was ridiculous. What were they to each other? Nothing. But her face burned at the thought of it.

_I can’t._

Looking about wildly, her eye fell on the OUT OF ORDER sign hanging on the back of the door. She grabbed it and stuck it on the outside of the end cubicle, slid the bolt behind her. And because she’d come this far, she might as well be as absurd as possible and hide properly. So she climbed up on the toilet seat and perched on the tiled alcove in the wall, her elbows on her knees. Relief and utter embarrassment competed for dominance in Furiosa’s overheated brain. Relief won out – if she had to stay here ‘til closing time, she would. Trying not to imagine the scene if an overzealous staff member came to fix the broken toilet, Furiosa tried to calm her hurried breathing.

_Just sit here and mind my own business for a little while – fuuuuuck this is sooo stupid –_

Her eyes widened as the sounds of the bar flooded into her precarious refuge. Voices, clicking heels, got to be at least two or three people –

The bar sound became muffled again. An unfamiliar voice spoke up.

“Are you alright?”

High heels clicked on the tile floor, getting closer, and she took a silent breath as the cubicle door rattled once against its fastening.

“Come on, you’re worrying us now,” another laughed nervously. “All very cloak and dagger, this.”

A deep sigh. Then another sigh. A third voice spoke in a distressed whisper. “Oh guys, I’m in such a mess. You gotta tell me what to do - ”

_This _one was familiar. It was Debbie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dag's song is 'Big Wheel' by Saun and Starr, which always sounded like it could be about Slit. Happy to finally fit it into a fic!
> 
> https://youtu.be/sgjF3QVGfz4
> 
> Every time we go out dancing, you gotta bring Big Wheel along  
And when the mood and the party  
And feeling is right he gonna make it wrong  
The boy's voodoo dolls for good times with lucky pins  
You better leave Big Wheel behind  
He ain't got no class at all  
Everybody knows he's crazy  
His mouth is always running like a low class marathon  
Too much, too loud, and always drunk too early on  
Always tanglin' up with strangers, trying to earn a slap  
You better leave Big Wheel behind  
He ain't got no class at all  
He's bound to get arrested, hey  
Roll along, roll along, roll along, roll on big wheel  
Next time you wanna step out go ahead and call  
Loretta, Lou, and Lorraine, Peter, Pat, and Paul  
Sherise, Shervonne, and Shirley, they all right with me  
But baby leave Big Wheel behind  
He ain't got no class at all  
Roll along, roll along, roll along, roll on big wheel  
You got to go, roll on  
Rollin' on, roll on  
Keep rollin' on, you gotta roll on  
Roll on, got to roll on  
Keep rollin' on, you better roll  
Roll ooh on, rollin' on  
Keep rollin' on you gotta roll


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family and other troubles

It took Nux waving his arms like a windmill to pull Max from the fog of ill-defined unease that was his new default. Furthermore, it seemed that he himself was the focus of the kid’s flailing.

Was he inviting him to join them?

Max’s eye skittered uncertainly over the other revellers, and he blinked with self-conscious gratification. They were all looking over expectantly, impatiently even. He shifted in his seat, mentally playing out the crossing-the-floor, finding-a-space and saying-hello stages of the operation, when the outer door opened with an accompanying wall of noise.

His muscles acted on reflex, seizing the opportunity of cover to get up and cross the floor. Besides, he definitely recognised a few faces in the crowd as Debbie’s particular friends and if he didn’t move _now_ he’d have to make small talk and Max knew he was spectacularly bad at that. An instant later, he was safely ensconced in a corner seat, strangely warm it was too - had he taken someone’s seat? and being casually nudged, waved at and otherwise greeted by the Fairground young ones.

He let out a long breath.

*

Max nodded his happy-birthday to Cheedo, who looked flushed and happy and very much queen of the hour. And, remembering, he reached into his pocket and retrieved his last-minute gift. Face burning with embarrassment, both general and very specific - he’d entirely forgotten about the birthday and had had to make do with what was at hand - he gingerly poked the girl’s elbow and passed it across the table.

Toast, who knew all about it, hooted, “Hah, you’ll never guess what this guy did!”

_Awwwww, don’t tell’em where it came from,_ Max groaned internally. But he knew it was inevitable.

While Cheedo squealed with delight at the gift and bore down on Max a little unsteadily for a hug, Toast told her tale.

“ - _ping, ping, ping_ as cool as you like. And he squinted round all the prizes, nose all scrunched up like this - ” she made a face that Max certainly never would make, even while sifting through tat, “ - and then he saw it! The Holy Grail! _Waaaaaaaaa!_” Toast weaved her hands through the air dramatically, presumably to indicate some kind of divine light, “ - and he points at it. _THAT!,_ he says. I forgot I had it, to be honest. All that old house-clearance stuff been sitting up there so long that - ”

“What is it?” Capable interrupted, leaning in for a closer look.

“Oooh that’s definitely haunted,” Dag observed, approvingly.

It was a little brass device that played a tune when you turned the handle. Toast had called it a music box, but it wasn’t a box - it was just a _thing._ Max didn’t know if it had previously been part of a larger structure or if someone had made it as it was in a fit of whimsy, but he liked it. It was reassuringly heavy in his hand.

It had been perched on a shelf full of old teacups and warming-pigs and other items of bygone days, and it had caught Max’s panicked eye as he surveyed the aggressively-hued soft toys hanging from the wall. The relief had been very real. It was a curiosity, at least, and he could carry it in his pocket.

It proved to be a conversation piece, at least, occupying the girls’ attention fully for about ten minutes or so. And the jingly tune kept playing intermittently throughout the evening even while unrelated conversations were going on, as one or another of them picked it up and idly wound the handle.

It being a longish table, there were two distinct conversations going on at any one time. Nux, Slit and Angharad were at one end and were talking of Slit’s hockey anecdotes and Canadian curiosities, with an occasional reminiscence of the old days riding the Wall of Death in the Apocalypso Circus. Max, although very much at the other end of the table, picked up a few scraps as he listened to the chat of his near neighbours. How Angharad had flown the trapeze night after night, had wowed the audience – Slit’s words, and she only disclaimed a little bit –

This circus sounded like a big affair, but what age must’ve these kids have been to be doing such dangerous acts? It sounded like they were talking of _years_ past –

At least Slit seemed to be behaving himself. Max caught the tail end of a joke – something along the lines of how the guy had ‘worried how hockey might ruin his looks’, with a self-deprecating grin on his scarred face. Debbie herself had been passing at the time, to wish a happy birthday to Cheedo and - presumably - to check that the prodigal cousin didn’t need to be tossed out on his ass after all. She’d snorted a laugh at that, and promptly clamped a hand over her mouth like she was sorry for it, bless her.

Max’s attention had been claimed back to settle an argument between Cheedo and Toast about whether the tune the music box played was from an ad for toilet roll or Chanel. Max thought it had been one for mobile phones, himself, but didn’t want to complicate matters. The discussion was interrupted by a shrill _“you did what?”_ from the other end of the table.

It seemed that Angharad hadn’t heard about the break-in incident yet and was giving Slit a piece of her mind. “Jeez, you didn’t tell me about that, Fury!” she declared, looking in Max’s general direction. “Wait, where is Fury?”

“She said something about taking a call, but that was a while ago,” Capable replied, looking around the bar. “Wonder where she can have got to - ?”

“Have you met her yet, Max?” Cheedo asked. Max thought for a second and shook his head. “Don’t think so.”

“Ahhhh, you’d have remembered!” the girl wagged a finger at him. “You don’t go forgettin’ Furiosa. She’s very.”

Max waited for Cheedo to finish the sentence and, finding she already had, looked around for clarification. The rest of the table simply nodded sagely.

“She’s like a mother to me, y’know,” Cheedo slumped forward on her elbows. Toast snorted into her drink, but Cheedo paid no heed. “She’s always been so sweet to me,” she hiccuped, now looking on the edge of tears. Cheedo was setting up to be a maudlin drunk, seemed like.

“Yep. She’s like a big ‘ol marshmallow, is our Fury,” Toast chuckled and, after being swatted and called _stupid_ by Cheedo, added, “Nah, you’re right. More like a sherbet lemon.”

“Ughhhh no! Yuck!” the girl protested. “She is _not!_ She’s – wait, what _is_ she like? I know but I just can’t think - ”

“How ‘bout a - fizzy – cola bottle?” Max suggested.

“Oooh yes! I like them!” Cheedo grabbed his forearm and shook it gleefully. “She’s a fizzy cola bottle! You know those, Dag, from Ye Oldie Sweetie Shop in that place I saw the physio?” she turned and whispered loudly to Max. “I have this _syndrome_, yeah? It’s like where I’m real bendy but it fucks me up sometimes - ?”

But she didn’t elaborate, on account of getting distracted by Toast’s ‘what sweet am I?’ game. Max wasn’t entirely sorry about this.

Things got a bit rowdy at that point, what with everyone yelling to be heard over everyone else. Max looked around nervously but Debbie was nowhere to be seen, and Probably-Barry was busy making cocktails. The long and the short of it was that Toast was liquorice bullets and _very _proud of it, Cheedo couldn’t make up her mind so opted for Allen’s Party Mix and Dag denied any knowledge of refined sugar whatsoever. Max was declared to be ‘the last nice chocolate at the bottom of a tin of Roses when you thought all the nice ones were gone’. It seemed that Cheedo had been trying to make friends for a long time and she chalked up this evening to a monumental success on that account. Which was strangely touching.

Which was why Max immediately changed the subject. This whole sweetie conversation had stemmed from _Furiosa _and Cheedo’s fondness for her. Who was she?

“She and Ace run the mechanics’ pool. She takes care of all of us,” replied Cheedo with a misty smile. He glanced around the others, realising the conversation at the other end of the table had petered out and that everyone was listening. They all appeared to be of the same mind on that point.

As they shared anecdotes, he let his mind drift to conjure an image of this motherly person he’d never actually seen, presumably the wife of the middle-aged mechanic guy in the goggles, with their gaggle of adopted children. That was how it seemed, anyway. They were a family.

Max wondered what it would be like to join them, to become a _part_, to travel around the country with them, to accumulate stories with them –

“No chance we could persuade you to come with us, then?” asked Capable, leaning forward with her chin on her hands. He looked up at her, startled out of his reverie, and contorted his face into a reluctant grimace.

He shook his head, “Can’t see it - ”

That little crease between her brows deepened, and Max thought he could see pity in her face.

The others reacted differently. They nudged him and each other with smiles and congratulations.

“’Course he’s not coming with us. Why would he? He’s got the perfect set-up right here!” Toast cried. “What? I mean it. You’re a lucky guy, Max.” She reached out a hand for him to shake and nodded companionably. He shook it limply, feeling numb.

“I know, right? An instant family, isn’t that perfect? Glory’s such a sweet kid, isn’t she? I bet you’ll be an amazing dad,” Cheedo beamed at him, and Max felt the bile rise in his throat.

_A perfect family - wasted on you_

_How could you think you could replace them? _

_You know you can’t love like you used to, what were you thinking, how could you be so stupid –_

The guilt was a knife twisted in his gut. Debbie and Glory – and every time he thought of them it was a reproach, a reminder of how hollow he was, broken beyond repair –

“Is that the time I’ve got to go - ” Max muttered half to himself, looking at a watch he didn’t wear and getting to his feet. Everyone looked at him, startled. _He shouldn’t be here ruining things, he didn’t belong here, he didn’t belong anywhere –_

“Got my shift. Thanks for – bye - ”

He made a half-hearted wave at the company and bolted for the door, chewing his knuckle. He flinched as the door closed behind him. Had that been Debbie calling out his name? No. It was just his guilty conscience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheedo has hypermobility, which allows her to wrangle herself into weird and wonderful shapes but has painful and damaging side-effects if not handled carefully. 
> 
> Her condition was not handled carefully in Joe’s Apocalyptica Circus, hence the nickname ‘Cheedo the Fragile’. 
> 
> Now, with a diagnosis and physiotherapy, she has a successful and comparatively safe contortionist career alongside Dag’s fire-eater act.
> 
> Of course, I wanted to check that my headcanon wasn’t a total nonsense. Much surprised to find a real-life example: Scarlett Checkers, a contortionist with type three Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. Thank you, Ms Checkers, for validating my headcanon!  
http://www.barcroft.tv/woman-contortionist-ehlers-danlos-syndrome-clowntortionist


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chicken switch (noun, Rocketry Slang)  
a device by which an astronaut may eject the capsule in which they ride in the event that a rocket malfunctions

“Oh guys, I’m in such a mess. You gotta tell me what to do - ”

“Oh shit. You’re pregnant.”

Debbie snorted a laugh that was almost a sob. “Hah, no. Thank God, eh? No, it’s not that,” she sighed.

“Okay but what? It’s not loan sharks, is it?”

“Just. Shut up a minute and let me speak,” Debbie retorted, slowly and calmly. She took a deep breath then proceeded to say nothing at all for a full minute.

Furiosa hardly dared to breathe. She was convinced they'd hear her heart thumping if the silence went on any longer.

“It’s Max. I think I have to end it.”

“Awwww no, seriously?”

“That’s a shame, babe. What’s he done?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all. That’s why it’s so _hard_. It’s not right. We’re just not right for each other. He’s not happy and neither am I and I’m gonna have to end it and it’s gonna be so hard - ” Debbie wailed and stamped a foot in frustration.

Furiosa listened, stunned._ This wasn’t how it was supposed to go - it was supposed to be perfect. How could it go wrong?_

“Maybe if you talk it out with him - ”

Debbie gave a muffled snort. “_Talk?_ If only - ” Quick agitated steps on the tile floor. “That’s the _problem. _He’s sealed up sooo tight and I can’t crack him open. It’s driving me nuts.”

“But it’s just been a few days, right? Just get to know each other a bit, take your time - ”

“Nah, it’s only gonna get worse. I don’t know what’s going on in his head but he’s walking around like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders and if I ask him what’s wrong he just freezes right up. If he’d just talk to me - ”

“You seemed so cute together - ”

**_Clang_** as a foot connected roundly with the wastepaper bin. “It’s not fair!” Debbie growled in an angry whisper. “I meet the sweetest guy - the exact _opposite_ of an asshole, great with Glory not to mention really hot and unbelievable in the sack oh my _god_ \- how is this not perfect?? I should be making people fucking nauseous on Facebook right now, not - crying in the toilets over how a guy would rather eat me out than talk to me!”

The door of the adjacent cubicle slammed back and the toilet lid dropped with a resounding bang that made Furiosa jump. She took a calming breath to soothe her jarred nerves as Debbie’s mirthless laughter rang through the flimsy wall, followed by a muffled ‘_this suuuuucks_.’

“Wow,” breathed a friend after a moment’s silence, “That’s - I’ve never ever heard anyone say _that_ before.”

“Yeah well, it’s a new one for me too,” Debbie blew her nose bitterly. “Oh it’s probably for the best. He’ll be gone soon anyway. Him and his car and his dog and his fairground buddies. I don’t think I could’ve got him to stick around anyway. It’s for the best. It’s not like I was looking for anything long term anyway - at least, I didn’t think I was - ”

“It doesn’t really sound like he is either, babe.”

Debbie made a noncommittal noise. “Anyway, _I_ need more than this - ”

“Talk to him first - tell him how you feel. He’s probably completely oblivious!” urged the friend. “Anyway, I’d thought he hooked up with them short-term? You sure he's going with them?”

Silence. Debbie gave a weary sigh. “Alright. Maybe you're right. Okay - I’ll go talk to him now.”

“Right now?”

“Well, no time like the present - !” Debbie declared, getting to her feet.

“Alright then!” the friend clapped her hands.

“You’re a bit panda-eyed though,” observed the other. “Come here a minute, let me - there that’s better.”

“You go get ‘im, girl!”

The door swished open and the sounds of the bar flooded in.

Then there was silence.

Furiosa gasped like she was coming up for air. She sat for a second with her hand clapped over her mouth, then roused herself and climbed stiffly down from her perch. She slid back the bolt and made for the door. Staying out of sight, she took a look round the corner. Everyone looking to the bar's outer door which had just swung shut. _Guessing that was Max escaping._ And there Debbie stood in the middle of the floor in obvious frustration at missing him by seconds.

Angharad called out helpfully, “He’s - uh, gone to work. I thought Ace was doing it, but I guess not."

Debbie flashed her friends a tight-lipped ‘_you see what I’m dealing with?_’ look, and the trio left the bar.

And then there was Capable's voice, calling her name. Furiosa straightened up so it didn't look like she was actually lurking.

“Hey, where’ve you been? You’ve been gone ages! Everything alright?” 

“Fine, just - ” she waved her hand vaguely by way of explanation. “What’s happened here?”

“Oof - trouble in paradise, I’d say!” That was Dag. Toast kept her thoughts to herself, merely reached for her Bacardi Breezer with a frown. A bewildered Cheedo kept asking ‘what did I say?’ to everyone in earshot.

Furiosa turned on her heel and made straight for the bar. She needed a drink.

*

“D’ya ever just feel like - like a monumental screwup?” Furiosa sighed, her chin on her hand as she waited for another pitcher of margarita to be constructed. The barman merely grinned and shook his head. Either that was a no or he was too busy to dissect the precise nature of her malaise. Probably for the best. She didn’t feel like elaborating, she merely felt the need to briefly and concisely vocalise her feelings.

It had taken her a little time to fully digest the evening's happenings, and the balance was stacking up very much _not in her favour_. This was not good.

She had fucked up sooooo hard. She’d fucked herself, which was bad enough but she could deal with that. She _had_ dealt with that. But, if her eavesdropping had shown her anything, it was that she’d completely fucked up Max and Debbie’s relationship before it’d even started. Some Fairy Godmother she was -

But that hadn't been the first revelation of the night. No, the first was that the pickling effect caused by creatively-named alcoholic creations can actually mimic the brain-fuckery of a psychic migraine. Not the nauseating painful aspects - though they would most certainly arrive tomorrow - but the fuzziness and disconnected flows of thought. This discovery had been swiftly followed by another. By the time two and a half margaritas were wending their way through her system, Furiosa had remembered what exactly she had said to Max that fateful morning. She’d already seen the consequences of it. Or at least overheard them.

It all fitted together. Like handing scissors to a running child, she’d sent Max into a new relationship with impossibly high standards. If he didn’t instantly fall head over heels in love with Debbie, there was something fundamentally wrong. Furiosa had never troubled her head overmuch with relationships but even _she_ knew that wasn’t the best way to go into these affairs.

_Fuck._

But it would come good. Debbie would find him and they would talk it out. Max would explain what the fortune teller had said and the dumb ideas he’d got into his head and they would laugh about it and everything would be alright.

Still - it _wasn’t_ a dumb idea. She’d seen it, _felt_ it. She hadn’t just imagined it. So why hadn’t it happened? Furiosa stirred her drink angrily. How could something be so clear and yet so obscure? She was absolutely never doing this again.

“What’re you grumbling about?” Angharad appeared at her elbow, seemingly looking for semi-sober conversation for the sake of variety. Furiosa could do semi-sober, but she couldn’t guarantee it’d be cheerful.

“She’s a monumental screwup,” the barman helpfully offered, from just far enough away for Angharad not to hear. Furiosa made a face. “Meh. Just the complicated stuff. What’s up?”

Angharad hauled herself onto the stool next to Furiosa. “I think I went a bit overboard with Toast earlier. You know I said I’d have a word?" She made a pained face. "It was the way she was going on - so angry and so entitled - ‘_it wasn’t fair, why shouldn’t she have whoever she wanted_’ - I kinda lost my temper - ”

Furiosa grimaced, knowing what was coming.

“Told her she reminded me of someone. She knew who I meant.” Angharad shook her head in self-reproach. They turned and looked at the girl who sat sprawled, her chin on her folded arms, smiling and listening to her friends. Angharad crinkled her brow and turned away. “I told her I was sorry, but I think she took it to heart.”

“It might do her good though. She knows she’s - no - uh. No Joe. _Blahlalala_,” Furiosa waggled her offending tongue, taking it as a sign it was time to switch to water. “That's a tongue twister,” she explained, to make it entirely clear.

“Sucks to be pipped at the post in love, though,” Angharad raised her chin and her eyebrows. A little insinuatingly, Furiosa thought. “Even when it’s someone you’ve barely spoken to.”

“Thankfully I wouldn’t know,” Furiosa drained her glass and pushed it away decisively. “What say we all call it a night?”

“I'll second that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was brought to you by the fabulous James Hunter Six. I typed out the lyrics myself since it seems nobody else has. Enjoy!
> 
> https://youtu.be/dsMgtp65-gs
> 
> You don't have to win every time  
You can stay this side (stay this side) of the finish line  
Sometimes you know when it's time to let go  
When the going gets rough and you've had enough  
Hit the chicken switch
> 
> When the prize ain't worth the game  
When every road leads back the way you came  
Sometimes you know when it's time to quit  
When in doubt take the coward's way out  
Hit the chicken switch
> 
> Sometimes you know when it's time to let go  
When the going gets rough and you've had enough  
Hit the chicken switch
> 
> When in doubt get out  
It's no sin to give in  
Tell me why you wanna die trying  
If you don't get a medal you can settle for peace of mind
> 
> If at first you don't succeed  
Remember what you want (what you want) ain't always what you need  
Sometimes you know when it's time to quit  
When in doubt take the coward's way out  
Hit the chicken switch
> 
> [and yes I lifted a line from Venom in this chapter]


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after

Furiosa woke up with only a mild headache. For a blissfully confused moment, she thought it had only been a dream, brought on by an unusually large number of margharitas. But no. She remembered that she’d drank to forget.

Had she really hidden in a toilet cubicle and eavesdropped on Debbie? Was Max’s girlfriend really so unhappy with him? Furiosa replayed it all in her head, as much as her morning-after brain would permit. _He’d rather eat me out than talk to me_. She knew there were more pertinent points made during the revelation, but that was the one that persisted in replaying in her mind’s ear. Furiosa’s sex life wasn’t what you’d call extensive but she had an imagination. Debbie must _really_ be at the end of her tether if that was a grievance –

Furiosa rubbed her temples, as her brain caught up with the probable here and now.

_Had she found him? What had she said? What had _he_ said? Were they still together? How _was_ he?_

And how could Furiosa find out?

Capable. Capable would know. She had suspected something was wrong between them, that Max wasn’t happy. Perhaps she knew all about it from Nux? They’d all gone on a date together, after all. 

Furiosa didn't relish the prospect of that conversation. She was _almost_ tempted to ask Keeper for her cards.

*

But there was work to be done first. It was Furiosa’s turn to do the weekly shop. Ignoring the possibility of being pulled over and breathalysed on the way to the supermarket, she grabbed a breath mint and a couple of motorbike panniers and got on her reluctant way.

Mechanically she ticked off the list, filled the trolley, loaded the conveyer belt and paid, even remembered to use her loyalty card – but it was all done in a fog. Her thoughts were very much elsewhere, occupied with the love life of a man who didn’t know her, the fate of whom she felt uncomfortably responsible. Loading up her panniers and backpack, she made for home, doggedly careful to keep the laden bike within the speed limit.

Passing along the riverside, her eye caught a glimpse of a familiar figure in an unfamiliar place.

The far side, under the bridge. It was Max. She pulled the bike over and killed the engine. Shielding her eyes from the low sun, squinting, she saw him wipe his face with his sleeve. He leaned his head back and stared into the middle distance like a statue.

Oh boy, that can’t be good.

Without stopping to think, to talk herself out of it, she flicked the kickstand with her heel and fired up the engine. Pulling out into the sparse mid-morning traffic, she turned about and sped across the road bridge to the other side. She pulled onto the hard shoulder and, biting her lip resignedly, navigated her beloved vintage BMW R59 slowly down the winding footway to the river’s edge. Briars or broken glass, she would not leave it at the roadside for those flaming yobbos to swipe.

*

So. That was that.

He’d eventually got up the nerve to reply to her texts. There had been a few.

_Where are you? We need to talk._ _Are you okay? I wish you would answer. I’m getting worried._

Around midnight he’d replied, they’d arranged to meet in the morning. To meet, to talk. Not to go anywhere particular. Just to talk. Max hadn’t gone into the house, she came out to him. They’d sat in his car. Neutral ground. Private. The perfect place for a breakup.

It was quick and amicable, and the relief Max felt spoke volumes. She knew he would be moving on soon, she said, and he didn’t contradict her. It had been fun. It _had_ been fun. Perhaps that was all it had had to be, all along.

And when it was done, it felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He pulled up somewhere or nowhere and got out. Walked. Nowhere in particular, just to breathe the air and move and move and move.

He walked through town as the morning shoppers began to claim the streets. A busker had just finished setting up his amp. As he approached, the man struck up the background music and it felt like a hand reached into Max’s chest and squeezed his heart. The half-familiar tune built and hit him with a wave of nausea.

_Where it began, I can’t begin to knowin’ _ _But then I know it’s growin’ strong -_

He shivered, screwed his eyes tight shut as grief hit him like a tsunami. _No, don’t do this now._

_Who’d have believed you’d come along -?_

He upped his pace, trying not to listen but the melody chased him _hands - touching hands, reaching out - _and seeped through his pores and tapped into a part of his brain he’d hoped and feared was withered and gone long ago. The song swelled to a crescendo -

_Sweet Caroline, good times never seemed so good. _ _I’ve been inclined to believe they never would -_

The busker’s voice was powerful and could be heard even as far as the river. Or maybe it was only the echo of it in Max’s skull as he fled – not running but walking as fast as he could with shoulders hunched as if to hide himself.

*

He sat and wept for what he had hoped for and had turned out to be just an illusion. He _wanted_ to feel like that again, and to know that he had failed - ? Whatever part of him he needed in order to _love_ had atrophied - that was abundantly clear now. He had the perfect person _right there_ and he’d failed. Failed to nourish the beautiful thing that he had known once before. Had it even begun to germinate at all? Or was he barren?

He shivered and watched the river ripple past.

How long he sat there he didn’t know, it could’ve been minutes or hours. The numbness had set in and he barely felt his own limbs. But the quiet and peace of the place was his no longer.

A scraping of metal on gravel. Shuffling footsteps. The placid panting of a dog.

Not Dog. Dog was with Nux. He knew he was going to some strife, some crisis, and he didn’t want to have Dog with him when it happened.

He eyed the intruder resentfully. An old man, pushing a shopping trolley filled with mismatched plastic bags, wrinkled with long use. The trolley wasn’t the easiest to get along, by the look of it, but the man wasn’t putting up with any nonsense. Giving Max a wary nod, more curious than suspicious, he took a ratty cushion and what looked like a dog bed from the trolley and flung them down by the concrete wall. He eased himself down as Max made an abortive attempt to get to his feet. His leg had gone dead and it wasn’t co-operating.

Fuck it. Nothing’s working anymore. Max almost choked on the lump in his throat. No. He wasn’t going to start bawling in company, though the burning sensation around his eyes meant it was probably obvious he’d been snivelling.

“Y’all right there, fella? Need a pull up?”

Max sniffed and tilted his head just enough to glance at the old guy, who appeared to be watching him with grudging interest. He’d probably be minding his own business if Max wasn’t such a pathetic sight right then. Sympathy from this guy – who’d seen better days, hopefully anyway – was something of a wake-up call for Max.

He must be a right state.

He grunted out a long sigh and let himself relax a bit. He had to admit,he felt a bit better after having a good cry, though an ache was building behind his eyes which felt red and puffy. He wiped a hand over them and made a more considered attempt to get to his feet. He made it this time.

“Y’off then?” the man nodded amicably, pulling a blueberry muffin from his bag. He surveyed it with wide eyes for a moment before pulling it apart delicately, making Max imagine what Gollum would look like as a judge on Bake Off. His dog was staring at the man intently, waiting for its share.

Or so Max thought.

But when the man rolled his eyes and grumbled a grudging _Oh all right then - HERE_, he didn’t hand the chunk of baked goods to the dog. He handed it to _Max_, who thanked him hurriedly but declined. The man seemed pleased at this.

“Bernice thought you looked hungry,” he explained, nodding at the dog. “And a bit down in the dumps,” he added through a mouthful of crumbs. “She’s a good soul, is my Bernice.”

Bernice’s tail thumped off the concrete approvingly. Max felt he ought to contribute something. “Nice dog,” he mumbled, shuffling forward slightly to signal that a pat would not be out of the question.

“She’s my wife,” the old man added - Max stopped abruptly - “Always was the sociable one. Go on, you can give her a pat. You look like it’d do you good.”

Max frowned in confusion as he scritched the dog’s ear, prompting an more energetic wag.

Surely he’d misheard, but he didn’t like to bring it up.

_Sorry, I thought you said she was your _wife, _haha. No, surely he said ‘she’s my life’ or even ‘she’s my woof’ -_

“Married thirty-two years last month,” the old man went on. The dog waddled over to join him and flopped down with a comfortable sigh.

_So - uh - hadn’t misheard, then_. Not knowing what to say, Max opted for an enquiring grunt. The man took this as sufficient encouragement to elaborate -

“‘Course, she wasn’t a dog back then - ”

*

Furiosa hurried along the riverbank. Her heart leapt - there! a man with a dog! But it wasn’t him.

She didn’t know if she was more disappointed or relieved. She had no idea what she would say to him.

_Hey, you don’t know me but I hear you got dumped. How’d that go?_

She kept walking regardless, as if she was just out for a brisk morning stroll.

“Morning Stephen, Bernice,” she called out, as man nodded a greeting and the dog thumped her tail. “Hey - um - was there a man here just now?”

“Hmm?” Stephen peered down the empty riverside path. “Oh, he’s gone. Yep, that fella, don’t know his name. Young fella with the duck’s arse haircut, kinda scruffy?” asked the man in the threadbare tweed coat and unraveling beanie hat.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Furiosa breathed. “Was he alright? How’d he seem?”

“Well - the poor fella looked a bit miserable, to be honest with you. Very sniffy. Bit pink round the eyes. I thought it was the pollen myself but Bernice reckoned not. So I offered him half my muffin. He didn’t take it.”

“Did he say why?”

“Dunno, maybe he doesn’t like blueberry.”

“No - I mean did he say what was wrong? With_ him,_ I mean.”

“Nope - I asked what was ailing him but he just shook his head. Stood there and listened to me blabbering on for a bit. Didn’t say much, just stared at Bernice. But I didn’t take it amiss. Think he’s not quite right in the head, to be honest with you.” He wagged a knowing finger, “But he’s _definitely_ not going to top himself. I asked him about that and he says there’s no need to worry about that sorta thing.”

Furiosa looked away and let out a nervous breath. Safe to say, it had crossed her mind when she’d seen him down by the river. Hardly the best place to do it, but still. And it’d be her doing.

She glanced along the river path. Well, he could be anywhere by now. No point following. Besides, she wasn’t sure her legs could be trusted to hold her.

“You don’t look too clever yourself. Fancy a cuppa?” Stephen asked, waving his thermos insinuatingly.

_Oh, why the hell not?_

She settled down on the sloping concrete and accepted the steaming cup without hesitation. The old fella made a good enough brew and she wasn’t above drinking out a manky mug. Besides, boiling water would kill the germs. She breathed in the steam and tried to clear her head. Make chat. He was an interesting old fella, usually had something new to tell her.

“What you up to these days, Stephen?”

“Ah y’know, this and that. I do the odd night shift at Tony’s bottle-o, that keeps me in hot dinners and out of mischief.”

“Hmm. Nights’ll be getting chilly soon though. No more thoughts about going to your daughter’s place?”

“Ah y’know how it is - she doesn’t understand - and Bernice doesn’t talk to Vicky like she does me. She tries, but - ” the old man shrugged, sighed. “Not to be wondered at, I suppose. When your old dad shows up and tells you your mum’s a dog now - We were both pretty upset with each other for a while. She keeps asking me to come live with them, but it wouldn’t be right.”

“Still, though - ” Furiosa murmured doubtfully. Winters could get pretty cold this far inland. The thought of the old man ending up like a pavement popsicle was a horrible thought. Should she try to persuade him to come with them when they rolled out of town?

“No, I’ve got a better plan. Y’know Miss Giddy?” he raised his overgrown eyebrows.

Everyone knew Miss Giddy. She was a tiny old lady, covered in tattoos and she ran the library. She lived in a little house, as tiny - compared to those around it - as she was. Folks called her the History Woman and - hadn’t Stephen been a history teacher - ?

“Wait - you’re not - you’re moving in with Miss Giddy? Won’t - uh - doesn’t Bernice mind?” she asked, laughing nervously.

“Nah, Bernice know we’re just good mates. Besides, it was her idea. She gets on with Giddy and her cats and - well - two can live cheaper than one and she works days and I do nights so one bed does for two. I can keep her in gin and make the dinner and look after the place when she’s out and - well, Bernice ain’t getting any younger, are ya girl? Hehe I know, me neither!” he chuckled.

Furiosa stared in confused relief at the old man rubbing his dog-wife’s ears. It was funny how people coped with problems - she only hoped Max would find a way to -

_Here we are, thinking about Max again_

She broke off her musing and clambered to her feet, seeing that Stephen and Bernice had now arranged their worldly goods and had all the looks of people who had somewhere to be.

“How about a house-warming present?” she asked, falling into step beside them. “I got some shopping on the bike. Might’ve some stuff you could use to make a nice moving-in meal?”

The old man grinned and quickened his pace somewhat. “You’re a good girl, Fiona.”

“Y’know, it’s actually Furiosa,” she reminded him.

At which he laughed heartily, as he did every time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet Caroline, WA WA WA  
It's a song that I love but I wouldn't like to listen to it under heartbreak conditions. Poor Max is of the same mind, evidently. Funny that
> 
> https://youtu.be/2w-_Vtttrfc


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max gets mad

Max hurried away, confused and disturbed and, in a small way, amused despite himself. What the hell was that? He tried to process what the old man had told him but it was like trying to catch an eel that you didn’t really want to touch.

A man had buried his wife. And, soon after, a dog had showed up at his door. The dog wouldn’t go away. The man - grieving and unhinged - decides that his dead wife has come back to comfort him. She could see he needed her, and she came back.

Max’s face always contorted at this point in his mental narrative. He couldn’t decide if he was aggrieved that Jessie hadn’t come back to him in some way or intensely thankful that she hadn’t. He’d been in a bad enough way at the time, he would’ve - But he didn’t want to think about that.

But the man seemed genuinely happy. Maybe he’d just caught him on a good day.

Well, anyway. He’d have to stop distracting himself with other people and start thinking about what to do next. The thought of going off alone was not as appealing as it once was and it sparked a flare of anger in Max.

That bloody fortune teller. He’d been _fine_ before he’d gone into that fucking tent. He didn't want, didn't _need_ anyone else. Because he didn’t know any better, or at least he’d almost forgotten. Besides, he would’ve met Debbie and they might’ve hit it off and he wouldn’t have these stupid ideas in his head about _knowing_ and they would’ve been _happy_ together. Or just enjoyed each other for a while. What was wrong with that? It’d all been ruined before it began and now Max couldn’t bear the thought of going back to his life as if nothing had changed.

He wavered, for an agonising hopeful moment he thought of going back to her. To explain the whole idiotic thing and beg her forgiveness. She would laugh at him for being so stupid and they would put it all behind them and be a family someday and -

And he would still look at her and think _I don’t love you. Why don’t I love you?_

Max looked up and the first thing he saw was the fortune teller’s tent. And there she was, sitting on the threshold. Smoking a joint and watching the world go by, not a care in the world. Well, that’s just peachy.

He glowered at the woman, who looked up under the flamethrower effect of his indignant stare.

“Well now, who pissed in _your_ dinner?” she retorted in an aggravatingly amused tone, stubbing out her roll-up and getting to her feet. “You look like a man who could use some good advice from the unknowable forces of wisdom.”

“No thanks,” Max growled back. “Didn’t do me much good last time, _thanks for that, by the way - ”_

And as he stepped closer and saw the deep wrinkles round the woman’s eyes, he hesitated. This wasn’t her. It wasn’t her voice. It wasn’t the way she talked -

The woman surveyed him as narrowly as he did her. “Hmmm - could it be that you’re here to complain to the management?”

“You’re bloody right I am!” Max spluttered, provoked. “Where do you get off - ”

_\- _ _getting people's hopes up like that? _

But he hadn’t time to finish, and probably regret finishing, the tirade.

_”Because - ” _she interrupted with a smirk, “I’m probably not the one you want to be talking to about that. _You _want to be heading down _that_ way,” she put her hand on his shoulder and steered him in the direction her finger pointed. He bridled at the unwelcome contact but squinted to see what she was pointing at. He could only see the mechanics yard.

“Between you and me,” she whispered in his ear, “our Furiosa’s the _real_ _deal._”

He flinched sideways from the weird old woman and marched off muttering to himself, “Well, I’ll just have to go and give the _real deal_ a piece of my mind then!”

*

Furiosa had just finished explaining to the girls why their chicken nuggets, avocado and tofu were missing. Thankfully they were so delighted by the news that the History Woman had got herself a History Man they forgot to ask Furiosa what the hell she’d been doing down by the river.

So she got away without further disclosure and escaped to the mechanics yard. It was with a sigh of relief that she pulled on her boiler suit and gave Ace a hand dismantling the more fiddly parts of the Ghost Train. Two days and counting, and then they’d be off.

She sighed as she remembered the one Epic Fail she would leave behind.

_Oh shut up Furi, it’s not all about you. It’s just possible that he had issues of his own before you stuck your oar in. Overdeveloped sense of responsibility, remember?_

That’s what the therapist had said. Furiosa heard it as ‘shut up Furi, it’s not all about you,’ which was what she’d tried to remind herself on these occasions.

But she was responsible. For the girls, for the mechanics, for the fairground to a reasonable extent. And to the poor mugs who came to her for unknowable wisdom. She couldn’t just shrug this off. Could she?

“Eh up, he looks a bit mad,” Ace nudged her and nodded towards the gate. “Wonder who he’s coming for? Look, he’s doing that elbow walk. Someone’s gonna get an earful, eh?”

“Who?” Furiosa asked, looking round. _Not the guy from the Council, not again -_

But no, it wasn’t the delightful Mr Emsworth coming to complain about Keeper. It was _Max_, heading straight for _her. _One of the guys was pointing her out, and Max looked pretty riled.

Her lips pressed together and she shivered with a thrill of what could be either trepidation or anticipation at the impending clash. Well, it had to happen eventually. She’d hoped they’d be gone before he figured out he’d been made a fool of, and by her, but they would meet at last.

This was gonna be awkward, but no more than she’d been prepared for this morning. She took a breath and ducked out of the mechanism she’d been working on. Stepped out into plain sight and waited for him to approach.

He saw her. He slowed. He stopped in his tracks. His brow crinkled. He took a breath and his chest swelled under his dusty brown t-shirt and jacket. He opened his mouth as if to speak and closed it again. The look on his face was like nothing she’d seen before. All the colour had drained right out of it, but his eyes were bright and alert and clear – he didn’t look sick or anything – not even upset. She didn’t know what to make of it.

“Furiosa?” he asked, his voice faint, hoarse.

“Yeah?” she replied, tilting her chin. Her tone was more combative than she intended. It always was when she was uncertain.

His face twitched, he stepped back. “ - no - never mind.” He turned on his heel and darted away.

Furiosa narrowed her eyes, confused.

“Huh, that was weird - ” Ace began, bending to pick up a box and broke off with a crash and a strangled _ngggh fffffffuck_ as the heavy box clanged to the ground.

_Oh shit, not again -_

Furiosa helped an agonised Ace straighten himself and limp slowly to his hard bunk.

She went through the motions and got him settled with strategically-placed pillows and ibuprofen and arnica, Ace cursing all the while and protesting _he was fine, he could do it himself, etc etc._ She should’ve been fretting herself silly over how they were going to manage without her chief mechanic. But instead she was overwhelmed with all things Max. She’d never had much of a chance to get a good look at him, short of stolen glances. Now the scant few seconds where she’d had full view of him had flooded her mind with mental images to process. And memories of the tarot reading - and now she could see him - in the flesh - loving and bring loved –

She dropped to the ground outside Ace’s truck and took a deep breath. She turned, feeling a presence behind her – it was Max, approaching from nearby – had he been waiting for her to come out? She reddened, her most recent thoughts still alive in her mind, as he stepped closer – closer even than he had been across Keeper’s table.

He was a healthier colour than earlier, that was something.

“I wanted to – introduce myself – properly, I mean. I’m Max,” he extended a hand, awkwardly formal. “But you know that already.” He half-smiled as he said that.

Much relieved, Furiosa returned the smile with interest and gripped his proffered hand. “Furiosa.”

“Was wondering – if you maybe still needed a night man where you’re going? I know it’s been a one-off, but - ” he tailed off, and glanced at her, having run out of words.

_Oh_. Furiosa's brow twitched into a frown and her eyes unfocused a little. This was an unexpected thing – and she remembered how he’d silently handed her tool after tool, exactly what she’d needed. Imagine that, day after day -

“Yes. I mean no. I mean - ” she squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. She was taken completely unawares, confused and flurried. _What's caused this change of heart?_ “What I mean is - ” she looked him earnestly in the face, “I could do with a bit of help in the mechanics yard. Ace is laid up, y’see, and we’re moving out day after tomorrow and there’s lots to do.” She paused and squinted at him incredulously. “You _really _want to come with us?”

He nodded, made a noise a little like a dog asking for a treat, and it did something absurdly fluttery in her chest. _Chill out, woman, you’re going to have to get used to this. _She’d been indulging in such dangerous phrases as ‘crush’ and even ‘love’ when she thought he was happily shacked up with Debbie but, without even noticing it, had quit as soon as she knew trouble was in the wind. That complications were afoot.

And so, she gave him the tour and described what needed to be done and he nodded and listened and suggested and agreed and argued a little and she barely had time to think of how his voice sounded and his lips moved and how warm and rough his hand was when she shook it because there was work to be done and it looked like they’d be doing it together.

Which was unexpected.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had to be you, it had to be you  
I wandered around and finally found, somebody who  
Could make me be true  
Could make me feel blue  
And even be glad just to be sad, thinking of you  
Some others I've seen  
Might never be mean  
Might never be cross, or try to be boss  
But they wouldn't do

He’d had to dash off and compose himself.

You can’t just go full throttle, fuelled on righteous indignation and then drive straight into the one thing, the one _person_ who could slam you into reverse without a second’s warning. Whiplash. Glorious electrifying whiplash of the soul. Even thinking of it now made him a little lightheaded.

_There. Her. That one. There she is. Consider yourself reactivated. You’re welcome_

He couldn’t speak, of course not – how could anyone be expected to line up their words and their brain at a moment like that? So - he bolted. He found somewhere quiet, to pace up and down, to crouch down and breathe deeply, to laugh and possibly even caper in a small way every time the sensation hit him afresh.

And then he went back to find her again.

*

It was strange to be in love with someone, and not know why, exactly. It was fascinating and a little overwhelming. Max wasn’t able or even willing to analyse how he was feeling. He was just glad that he was feeling so much.

He wouldn’t have thought it was possible if he hadn’t been forewarned, and he wouldn’t recognise the feeling if he hadn’t been there once before

But he didn’t know her. What would she actually be _like?_

*

Well, there she was. The one who was to be the second custodian of Max’s heart and soul, with her tight-cropped hair and her grease smears and her overalls and her striking green eyes. It was impossible not stare. Oh God, her _eyes. _He could’ve looked at them all day. And her bearing, the way she stood. And she smelled _amazing_. Max could only hope that he wasn’t embarrassing himself. He was probably embarrassing himself.

His head was buzzing. It was too much to process.

This was the mechanic who swore a blue streak. The fortune teller who’d taken his peace and shaken it like a dog_._ The hungover woman in the hoodie and sunglasses he’d almost collided with. The same who stood in sunset gold and surveyed the fair like it was her own dominion. The mysterious hooded crusader who appeared in the dead of night, her stern presence striking terror into the heart of scar-faced ne’er-do-wells. The prickly All-Mother of this itinerant family. She was all these people at once. How was that even possible?

Somehow, he’d managed to ask her for a job, and she’d said _yes_. And it didn’t just mean he could follow them. He would be working _with _her.

Max was in a daze, on autopilot, as she’d shown him round. In a sparkly sappy unicorn fog of bliss. He was probably literally high on happy brain chemicals. 

But he sobered right up when she turned to him, all sorrow and regret, and apologised. Her face a resounding _sorry, no_.

She regretted how the reading had gone, she didn’t know _what _had happened, that’d never happened before, she would _never_ tell anyone anything like that, not normally – something so personal, so potentially damaging. She apologised for fucking him up. Those were her words. Max could still see her earnest, even pleading expression as she said it. A part of him died a little, but it was only to be expected.

He could see how it it was now. She knew how he felt about her, and she couldn’t reciprocate.

*

He’d thought it over long into the night.

_No, no she hadn’t fucked him up. He’d meant it when he assured her of that, when he said she didn’t need to apologise. He hadn’t been just trying to soothe her conscience._

She hadn’t fucked him up. She’d given him something. She’d made him _feel_ again. It would be too much to ask of the universe – what did other one call it? The unknowable wisdom? – to arrange it so that she could love him back. That would be too good to believe.

But.

A sense of unease had been trying to grab his attention during the last few hours since he’d set eyes on her. Of course, he’d been too love-drunk to pay it any heed. Her regretful apology had given him enough of a reality check to remember the other thing he knew about Furiosa. Kind of a minor detail. _She was_ _married to Ace_.

He was pretty sure she was, anyway. 

He could see it all now. She’d been avoiding him ever since the reading. They had technically met that night he and Slit had their scuffle but, at her first chance, she’d disappeared. And she’d been sitting in his seat in the bar, which she’d vacated because she knew he was coming to join them. It was all so obvious.

_Oh shit._ She'd been avoiding him so that _this_ wouldn’t happen. She’d almost got away, got out of town, without having to worry about some having some bloody stalker mooning after her, making things weird and awkward.

And what did _he _do as soon as he set eyes on her? Asked for work. Max groaned his embarrassment. She was only taking him on out of a sense of responsibility or, worse, pity.

_But she didn’t have to ask you to work with her,_ a hopeful voice whined. He slapped it down tout suite. _Pay attention, idiot – she was desperate for emergency cover. Desperate enough to think of YOU. Probably regretted it the moment she suggested it._

Well, he wouldn’t be a bother. He wouldn’t say a damn thing about it. Wouldn’t moon, wouldn’t be weird. He would work with her as long as he’s needed and make himself useful somehow after that.

He would come with the Fair, with his friends – maybe find a home of a sort.

_That_ was enough for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter was getting unwieldy, so I've chopped it up into manageable bits. It's not over yet!!
> 
> And the song, of course, is by Frank Sinatra 
> 
> https://youtu.be/BXmEJL1mnuU


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunspots changing glares  
Walking 'round with my very best friend  
I've got a love song in my head  
Strolling 'round with my very best friend  
I look back but I don't see  
Walking round with my very best friend  
She looks good--fine to me  
I'm in love with my very best friend  
And eyo, it goes away  
And eyo, it goes away...

Okay so – let’s get this straight - it was_ really good _that she wasn’t married to Ace.

He’d actually got that cleared up pretty quickly. It was kind of obvious, now he was paying proper attention. They didn’t share sleeping quarters. They only touched to punch each other on the shoulder. And Ace was unsubtly flirting with the Big Hairy Burger Guy every time Max saw them together.

But what had really sealed it was how Capable had nearly laughed herself sick at the mention of Furiosa and Ace being ‘an item’.

In hindsight, he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d got the idea in his head in the first place. It was kind of unnerving how he could’ve got the wrong end of the stick like that. But he’d been in a bad place, during those Last Days of Debbie, what with the guilt and the self-loathing.

He was wiser now. Clearer-headed.

It was kind of crushing to find that Furiosa’s wasn’t a case of ‘thanks but I’m actually happily married’. No, he could only conclude it to be ‘I just don’t fancy you, sorry’.

But on one level it wasa relief, since his conscience had been bothering him. He’d felt kinda grubby about it - being in love with a married woman. No, better as it was. And, if he was absolutely truthful with himself, he felt an animal satisfaction that – well – that she wasn’t _someone else’s_. 

But enough of that.

They were actually getting to be good friends. _Friends_. Not some kind of whiny ‘friendzone-y’ kind of fake friendship. She was a real solid mate - honest and straightforward and kind and no nonsense. And, despite the awkwardness of the situation, there was just something in her presence that released the tension he wasn’t even aware he was carrying. She didn’t do anything or say anything particular, she just _was._ He felt better when she was around. And she seemed to like him. She kept him around, didn’t she? Even though she knew he was carrying a candle for her? Hell, she’d known that longer than _he _had.

He could see that she trusted him not to make things awkward, and he was not going to break that trust.

*

And, as it turned out, Max stayed on in the mechs’ pool even after Ace was back on his feet.

It seemed like the guy had quite enjoyed standing in for him and Nux when they were at the Chromies game. He was more than happy to swap a few garage shifts for the old hi-vis vest. A few shifts became a straight-up job swap, and Max had no objections.

He was in clover.

As mechanics, Max and Furiosa were like a finely tuned engine – yeah they would have the odd blue but they always made up after - and she seemed to approve of his work and of _him_. She seemed perfectly happy with the arrangement. It was weirdly perfect.

Not to say that his feelings for her were suddenly pure and platonic. He still _wanted _more, of course he did. Sometimes he’d even go walkabout for a couple days, only to dash back in a panic at the idea that he’d find his marching orders waiting for him.

She never did actually take him to task about it, which made him feel worse. But he’d always make up the time and more, on account of feeling guilty. Work was an excellent distraction, once he'd got the urge to run out of his system.

But if he ever found himself getting terminally whiny and dissatisfied with the situation, he simply had to ask himself _what did he want to do about it? _And the answer was – absolutely nothing.

He certainly wasn’t going fuck things up by serenading her outside her Rig.

And why?

Well, he knew from Cheedo that ‘Furi doesn’t _do_ relationships’. Plus, _he’d _just come out of a painful breakup and had learned caution the hard way. And, most importantly, he knew that she knew how he felt about her – hadn’t she predicted it? – and she clearly just wanted to be friends. So – no – he wasn’t prepared to jeopardise the most precious relationship he’d had since Jessie for the sake of his libido or inclinations toward romance.

No siree. Peachy skin and big green eyes and friendly fuck-yous could be appreciated from a respectful distance, like art.

*

Hah. So _this _was what it was like to run away with the circus. Max felt strangely proud to be a part of the convoy of trucks and cars and bikes, just him and Dog in the old Interceptor.

But it wasn’t just him.

On the motorway, he’d driven alongside her Rig for a moment and he’d caught her eye. A nod and a smirk had kept him going all the way to their next destination. Another medium-sized town looking for seasonal entertainment.

There, they’d joined up with old friends of Furiosa’s. Seven or eight of there there were, all women of various ages but each looking like they’d circumnavigated the globe at least once. They did a famous motorbike act, the girls had said.

Max’s glow was renewed as she introduced him as her new head mechanic. He’d ducked his head in embarrassed greeting as they’d all nodded and surveyed him with a scrutiny that was, ostensibly, similar to that of Debbie’s girlfriends but somehow made him feel slightly less of a bug under a microscope. 

He felt like he’d passed the test at least, and now maybe he was one of them. Max the Carny, he thought. Who knew?

*

Workmates and mate mates, and the summer ended and the days grew shorter - 

Things went on for months in this delightfully uncomfortably comfortable vein - until a sudden cold snap hit.

Yes, Max was stubborn. He could’ve squeezed himself in among the mechanics in the warm and noisy truck that served them for bunkspace. But Max had his _own_ space, thanks very much and it was his. Not even Furiosa’s grumbling swayed him much on that front. Max’d been fine in his car for these few years past, with his doona and Dog for warmth. It wasn’t a problem.

But that night was _seriously_ cold. His breath came in clouds, and his muscles were rigid in shivering protest despite the extra blankets and hot water bottle. Even Dog wasn’t overmuch happy about the situation, and she’d been a half-feral stray when Max had found her.

_At least I’ve got my car_, Max thought, as his breath condensed on the woollen blanket and froze in tiny droplets. _Could be worse_, he consoled himself, as he drifted into sleep –

How long he slept, he had no idea, but when he woke, everything was a fog -

Dog was barking, his whole body ached, someone was pulling him about, warm hands were on him -

His eyes opened sluggishly, alarm and confusion fighting against the urge to sleep. Dim light filtered through net curtains high up. He wasn’t in his car – and he wasn’t alone.

Warmth at his back, warmth that fitted close to him – an arm draped over his waist –

Max drifted back into oblivion.

*

Dog was clearly none the worse for the experience – she was curled up asleep on a pile of dirty laundry, snoring. Max, on the other hand, was far from relaxed. He knew it was warm in here, but he couldn’t stop shivering. His head ached something awful and he felt that throwing up wasn’t entirely off the cards.

"Hmph."

He peered up at Furiosa frowning at the thing in her hand. She’d pressed something cold to his brow at some point, was that it? He wasn’t at his sharpest or best, but Max figured he maybe wasn’t in great shape right then. Thermometer?

“You’re stopping here. Don’t even think about arguing.”

Furiosa had wrapped him up warm, left a hot lemon drink by his (her) bedside and bid him goodnight. He'd felt pretty bad about kicking her out of her own bed, but his aching head hadn't left him much room for additional fretting beyond his own stupid immune system or whatever the hell. 

But when he'd opened his crusted eyes in the grey light of dawn, there she was. Asleep on a half-made spare bed of a bunk on the other side of the living space. _Ngh._ _That doesn't look comfortable_, Max thought. Probably couldn't get a bed elsewhere after all. Shit. He tried to get up, but only succeeded in making a noise and waking her.

"Hey. Who said you could could get out of bed?" she glared at him, disentangling herself from her flimsy sheets and sitting upright. "Seriously, Max, do you know how close you came to freezing to death out there?"

He groaned and buried his face in the pillow. She’d been grumbling all yesterday, but that was probably just a warmup. A rehearsal for the main event.

"And _locking __your car?” _she went on, “What's _that_ all about? You think someone's gonna _steal_ it? Pfft. _Idiot_." 

Hey.

But the thought that she cared was a balm to his injured car-pride.

Though having an employee die of hypothermia was probably a serious legal matter. No boss could afford to overlook that kind of alarm bell.

_Wait,_ Max frowned, as her words filtered into his fuzzy brain. How had she got into the car - ? Glancing at her, he noticed a red-stained dressing on her hand. Looked a bit like a tool had slipped - when'd that happen? - _oh shit._

"Sorry ‘bout that," he croaked, screwing up his face in pained sympathy.

Though there was no chance in hell that he’d ever sleep in an unlocked car, ‘cept when it was too hot to shut the doors, but he’d save that argument ‘til he was feeling up to it.

*

Furiosa hung a curtain up the middle of the ceiling, and made up the spare bunk properly. It had been used as a shelf, but spare bedding had been scraped up and it looked almost as comfortable as the one he was currently huddled in.

_Ohhhh it was nice to stretch out_. Sleeping in the back seat of a car did kind of suck after all. Perhaps he ought to reconsider his living arrangements somehow or another.

*

He was bunk-bound for four days.

On the fifth day, a wrapped-up Max stood on the white-frosted gravel and surveyed the scraped paintwork on the Interceptor door. His was a degree of philosophy that would've surprised anyone who knew him only a few months ago.

If _that_ had happened under any other circumstances, he'd have been - aargh. But. Well, _Furiosa_ had done that. 

He would fix the door catch, of course. But he would not be touching the paintwork. Because she'd done that and, if that was the only mark Furiosa would leave on him, he was keeping it.

*

"I swear to god, if you go sleeping out in that car again I will have your guts for garters. I mean, come on. It's not like you snore or anything. No _gas_ problems or anything. And we’ve got the curtain, right?"

Max frowned and reflected on the probability that she knew his worst personal habits already, along with everything else.

If she was really sure -

So he nodded and agreed, with no small thrill of joy and terror at the prospect of sharing her space for the next while. Until a more suitable accommodation became available. While the thought of her twining his intestines around her thigh could be the stuff of very specific fantasies, he would rather just stay - if she was so set on it. 

He was feeling much better but it was still brass monkeys out there and Dog wasn’t as young as she used to be and she deserved better care. And it wouldn’t be _that_ awkward. Would it?

*

Oh it would. Aw shit, could they really do this? Could he? Living - actually sleeping and waking and changing clothes and generally manoeuvring - in her personal space would be challenging, to say the very least.

Working with her eight hours a day was tricky enough and there were times when he needed to vent his frustrations at the current state of affairs. Those occasions when he found himself to be a base human and not the purely philosophical admirer of animate art as was his goal.

On those occasions, it ought to be noted, he did his very best to remain neutral and generic and not think of anything or anyone that might be considered a breach of trust. And she was psychic, after all. There was a fair chance that she knew exactly what he was up to. That thought was usually enough to stay his hand altogether.

Buuuut not always. 

Max remembered it all too well. The memory could be relied on to keep him toasty even in this weather, through the power of sheer embarrassment.

*

It was about four or five months ago, not long after they’d arrived at the next town on the route. Back before summer had really ended. It was a warm evening after a suffocating day. All who could had downed tools in quest of rest and relaxation.

Max was sharing a sandwich with Dog in his favourite spot, the old car seat under the big tree at the edge of camp. Furiosa was stepping out of the Rig, towel and shower caddy in hand, and the young ones were gathering over by the gate. Max was settling for a nap when Nux jogged over and said they were all planning on hitting the pub. Max was agreeable, he would see if the boss would come too, etc etc. And, speak of the devil - here she was, letting herself back into the Rig, looking considerably fresher.

He waited ten, maybe fifteen minutes for her to be definitely decent, then ambled over to knock on her door.

“Furi – uh. They’re all going down to the Riverside for a few drinks – you coming? – Furi?”

Max leaned his brow against the sunwarmed steel door and heard a muffled expletive and unusual buzzing sound. It reminded him of a car engine that wouldn’t turn over. Was that her electric shaver? It sounded kinda sick if it was –

_“Gimme a minute - ”_ Her voice sounded funny.

A thud as something hit the floor with a reverberating growl, more swearing, sounds of general scuffling –

The door flung open. Max looked up to see –

Furiosa in a halo of lamplight, in a t-shirt and inside-out pyjama bottoms, pink blotches on her neck, and there was a sweat patch right there just above where her nipples showed clear through the thin fabric. She took a deep breath, to accentuate the effect.

The realisation hit him that he was staring right at her chest. He took a half step back and looked past her, anywhere but straight at her. Seconds stretched out to aeons. _Aaagh. His mind was blank. What had he come to ask? Oh yes –_

“Uh - pub?”

“Yeah. Sure. Yeah. Just be a – a minute. Gotta tidy up. Been – uh - ” she frowned and rubbed at her cropped head.

“Shaving?” Max offered. He couldn’t help but glance curiously in the direction of her bunk. There was still a faint hum coming from over there -

“Yeah. Exactly. Right, I’ll - see you down there, okay?” Max rocked back on his heels as the door slammed in his face.

He was two puzzled steps away before his brain caught up with his senses.

_Oh. Oh nooooo. _He felt light-headed. Had he just interrupted - ?

He’d had to go and have some private time in a quiet toilet cubicle after that, because he _did_ have an imagination where Furiosa was concerned.

_Imagine, just imagine if she’d invited him in - _

He arrived - late, flustered and self conscious - at the Riverside, at exactly the same time as she did. A stilted greeting, minimal eye contact. This was not good. She avoided him all evening. For days she seemed to want to avoid being alone with him, which was awful.

She knew what he’d done, he just knew it.

But, before the week was out, all seemed smoothed over. If anything, she was being extra nice. He guessed he’d been forgiven. If she knew as much about him as he supposed she did, she probably understood.

*

Because now, all this time later, his best-friend-who-happens-to-be-girl-in-whom-he-was-still-helplessly-in-love was cheerfully clearing half her shelf space for his limited tat. 

He couldn’t believe she’d actually asked him to share her space. The trust implied in that - was it intolerable pressure or was it the most wonderful thing in the world?

_Could he do this, could he do this - _the urge to bolt was building even as Furiosa cleared him his very own drawer.

But one thought kept him there. She had faith in him, despite having seen exactly what he was, knowing exactly how he felt - 

If she thought he could do it, he felt he must have it in him. Okay. _Okay,_ he thought, smiling up at her for the first time since the suggestion had been broached,_ guess I'm moving in._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is Julian Cope's Sunspots
> 
> https://youtu.be/SQpOtdZdnPQ


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nocturnal confidences

Max always used to lie awake in the Interceptor night after night, with only his thoughts going ‘round and ‘round to keep him company. And Dog, of course. Dog was a tranquil soul and had no troublesome memories to disturb her sleep. And she snored.

Thankfully Furiosa did not snore. But it seemed that she wasn’t much better at the art of mastering sleep. As nights passed, one or the other of them might ask in a low voice, _You awake? _It would be acknowledged with a grunt or a monosyllabic _yep_, and they would continue in silence. Merely having a companion in your insomnia was comfort enough.

But there was something truly remarkable about having a companion who had a window into your past, present and future. With Furiosa as a co-insomniac, Max’s nocturnal musings now found themselves being vocalised. Just every now and then. Since he always assumed prior knowledge on her part, Furiosa being who she was, they were usually apropos of nothing. She would respond with a perceptible nod and a murmur of assent, or ask a question. Or very occasionally groan and roll over in protest.

He often wondered how much he’d told her about himself in those dark sleepless nights.

_She_ was less forthcoming but, if she ever did begin to speak of herself, it was usually an epic tale. Some nights it was like a pent-up dam breaking, stories came flooding out. Usually stories of when she was a kid, before the Apocalyptica. Things she and her best friend Valkyrie got up to. Old tales they'd been told of long-ago circus days with famous strongwomen and an old man who sold tickets to Mars for ten cents apiece.

Some of her stories killed sleep altogether. Laughing yourself silly at 3am wasn’t exactly the best way to summon sleep. Plus, Keeper's nude psychic readings and free tax advice was not the mental image that Max wanted to fall asleep with, even if it was more than forty years ago.

But, even in the most light-hearted story, there was always an undercurrent of sadness. Max couldn’t decide if he wanted to know why that was. He didn’t know how to ask. Didn’t know if he even should.

Turned out he didn’t have to.

*

There’d been a day when Furiosa and the girls had all been ensconced together, talking in low voices. Capable was pale, clutching Angharad's little Manny to her like she'd rescued him from a cliff edge. Cheedo had been crying, and Dag looked fiercely grim. Angharad and Furiosa hugged briefly and looked serious, but both looked like a weight had been lifted off.

“’kay?” he’d asked in passing, because it would’ve been strange not to. He’d barely paused, not expecting a response. But Furiosa had turned to him and nodded, with a look of calm triumph.

“It is now.”

*

That night, in their bunks, Furiosa spoke.

“I should’ve told you this long ago. The reason we took on a night watchman - ” She paused. Started again. “The man we used to work for. He died yesterday. We’re not sorry. He was a crook and - and he hurt us all, in one way or another.”

Max was silent. He’d never heard anything good said of the guy who ran their old circus, not even from Nux. And now he was dead, and they were all relieved. They’d needed a night watchman because of _him? _Hmph.

“Start of the summer, last year, he got parole. He was getting out, him and his sons. That’s the reason I got _you._ I should’ve told you what you could’ve been getting into. They never did come near the place after all." She shifted in her bunk and added, "though that night where Slit showed up – I thought _that _was it.”

“Turns out they had other things on their minds. Turns _out_ Joe’d pissed off some bigger fish – whether inside or before he got sent down, I don’t know – but they got to him pretty bad just before his release day, and he'd been on a ventilator since. His sons were released without a scratch, but we've had no sight nor sound from them since. The Vuvalini keep their ears to the ground for us, regular updates - that how we know. I’m guessing they cleared out. Or they’re dead, I don’t much care,” she sighed. “They weren’t really the problem, not without _him_.”

“Joe, now - _he_ hung on way longer than the doctors had expected, so we all thought he’d claw his way back. Like a cockroach. He always said he was unkillable. Well, he was wrong about that too.”

Silence. Max took a shaky inhale. _Right then. Good. Not good, but better than it could’ve been_.

But there was more. He could tell from how her breath came short and tense. There was more that she wanted to get out. He waited in silence. It would come.

“It wasn’t an accident." Her voice was tight and flat, like she was trying to hold herself together.

Max blinked. _What wasn’t? _He heard her run her tongue over dry lips.

_Oh no – what was it she'd said? ‘He hurt us all, in one way or another’_

“My arm. It wasn’t accident. What happened to it.”

It was common knowledge what’d happened to Furiosa’s arm. An industrial accident. None of them had been there back then – working for the circus – only Ace. The young ones all crossed themselves, or equivalent, when they spoke of it. The crazy old days before Health and Safety. 

“What happened?” Max’s voice was a whisper at most, he didn’t know if he’d even vocalised the question or just thought it.

“He’d come to – to see – to check in on the newest recruit. It was a youth training scheme, y’see. Giving circus skills to young delinquents. Pillar of the community - ” she broke off dryly. He could hear the way her breath came through her teeth.

“He didn’t come close. He didn’t have to.” Silence. “I knew what was coming, maybe not today, but someday.”

Max’s gut clenched.

“I got too close to the mechanism. And – oh – I don’t remember much more but that when I got out of hospital he never looked at me like that again. Never looked at me at all, if he could help it.” Her voice was hard and she spoke with a bitter triumph. “I think he was _t__raumatised_, poor flower. Hah. I guess it was worth it. Oh, I still worked for him. Not much choice, it would’ve been a cell for me otherwise, one way or another.” She sighed a long and shaking sigh. “I didn’t much think about it ‘til I met Angharad. His _wife_,” she spat. “And the others. His special ones, his HoneyBees. I didn’t know, until I did.”

“Honey – Bees?”

“Oh, Joe’s best girls – Queen Bee, Killer Bee, Honey Bee, Baby Bee, Wasp. He’d been recruiting for months for _his new act_. His pride and joy. Trapeze, sharpshooter, animal-tamer, contortionist, fire-eater – all beautiful and young and talented. He had the whole set – in more ways than one. Piece of shit,” she spat.

“And you all got out. And he ended up in prison?”

“Oh yes. That’s another story. Another day.”

“Okay,” Max breathed. He didn’t know what else to say. He breathed slow, mind racing. He couldn’t afford to think, so he tried to focus on her breathing – it was quick and short and came in tight shuddering breaths. She was wound up tight – and it dawned on him that this was someone who’d told something difficult. Maybe even for the first time? Surely not. But she was rigid, brittle like glass, he could tell from a metre away. He physically ached for her, to comfort her.

“Furiosa?” he inquired, half-rising, lifting his blanket invitingly. _I’ll come to you, or you come to me. Whatever you want._

She glanced at him sharply, hesitated for a second, then clambered in beside him like lightning. He wrapped his right arm over her and she grasped his hand tightly, drew it across her body like a restraint on a roller coaster, and held it there in an iron grip. She was tight like a drawn wire, shaking with tension.

The numbing sensation in his hand it faded out as, very slowly, her breathing slowed and she relaxed into sleep.

*

Max woke up alone. Flung off the covers and got dressed.

Huh. Well, _that _was a weird dream.

*

Opening the toolbox, he caught a glimpse of his hand. It had ached, but that wasn’t altogether unusual. He wasn’t getting any younger. He flexed it and saw for the first time the purple bruises blossoming between his fingers. He examined them, feeling a sick feeling in his stomach and not knowing why. Racking his brains for whatever he’d forgotten, he stared at them until a light touch on his shoulder made him look up.

She took his hand and examined it with a grimace before glancing at him regretfully. “You’re a good friend,” she gave his abused knuckles a fleeting peck of a kiss and let it go just as quickly. Flustered and unsettled, unsure again whether he was merely imagining events, he turned to see her absorb herself in sorting nuts and bolts.

*

Max leaned on the bar waiting for the man to pour his measure, rubbing his forehead and frowning at his thoughts. He grunted a thanks as the heavy glass appeared, and turned about with a heavy sigh.

There was Ace in a booth, sitting alone and nursing a similar drink, the kind that might well be selected for its capacity to burn the throat and distract the mind. He certainly looked like Max felt.

_Well - birds of a feather and all that –_

Max wandered over and had to knock Ace’s elbow to get his attention. The guy blinked and looked up in mild surprise. Max gestured at the empty seat enquiringly, and Ace waved at it with a sigh that Max did not take as a slight. The guy looked like he’d found a dollar and lost a twenty.

“Big news, huh?” he looked at Ace sympathetically.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah. ‘S weird – I called the guy a friend once,” Ace scratched his chin musingly. “Thought he was doing us all a favour.”

He swigged his whiskey and made a face. “Should’ve seen the signs earlier on. Like the accident. When Furiosa’s arm got – y’know. Hmph. Poor kid. D’you know about that? Ah, ‘course you do. Joe comes running out all white-faced, and all he can say is ‘it wasn’t me’. It wasn’t_ his _fault, apparently. Fucker. That was the first time I really thought - ” Ace stopped short and shook his head. “But she swore he hadn’t touched her. It was _an accident_. I mean, why would he even _say _that?” Ace looked up at Max appealingly.

Max looked down at his drink, said nothing, hoped it was a rhetorical question. But no – Ace was looking for answers.

“Did she say different to you? Oh, shit, I knew it - " he groaned.

“No, nothing like that. _Really_.”

Ace let out a long breath. “That’s something, I suppose. But it was an awful thing. Terrible. She bounced right back though. Wasn’t gonna let that hold her back. Was fixin’ cars in a twelvemonth after. Toughest kid I ever did see.”

“Hmph,” Max grunted, with a half-smile. That sounded about right.

“To Furiosa!” Ace held his glass aloft. _Clink_.

“Furiosa!”

“Your’re a right good fella, y’know that?” Ace beamed. “Glad to have you on board. Never did say welcome to the family but – welcome to the family!”

Max laughed awkwardly as Ace engulfed him in a paternal squeeze, pleased but seeing all the early warning signs of a jovial drunk. Fifty said he’d be singing after another few.

*

But another few they did have. Ace was feeling talkative, and the news of Joe’s welcome demise still weighed on his mind. He told Max of his prison days, how Joe had taken him on when no-one else would, gave him a home and a job. _Kept him out of trouble. _But the trouble would always be of Joe’s own making and he would make it very clear that _his friendship_ was the only thing keeping Ace out of jail.

It was the same with the young ones, Ace found out later on. Talented tearaways with bad reputations, the girls included. Joe trained them in circus skills, promised them an exciting career. Like Ace, they were grateful for it. And, like Ace, they would find that Joe held their fates in his hand. An easy way for a man to manipulate those in his dubious care.

It’d been a miracle that the lawyer had managed to pin _him_ down to something that would stick, without sending every last one of his crew and harem down with him. Ace still didn’t know how she had done it. And they were all free to do as they liked with whatever life had left for them. Angharad and Dag both pregnant by him – Dag lost hers while deciding whether to keep it – while Cheedo and Nux were like shadows, worn down and sick. But it’d been Furiosa who’d spent longest in therapy. She’d blamed herself even more than Ace, and he didn’t know why.

Max knew why. She blamed herself because she’d known what Joe was from the start. And she hadn’t – or couldn’t – tell why or how she knew. Poor Furiosa.

*

Ace had joined him on his side of the booth, to show him old photos on his phone. The bottom of their glasses were visible once again when there she was, standing there with arms folded and looking twinkling daggers at the sorry pair of them. They both cheered at the sight of her, Max for his part hoping that an extra-enthusiastic welcome might mitigate any boss-wrath that might be coming his way. She _had_ told him to take a long break, but that was _quite some time ago_. And now he was a teeny bit incapacitated. Oops.

But all she said was _‘Well, I guess I’ve got a bit of catching up to_ _do!'_

At which point Ace went off to get another round in and Furiosa slid into his vacated seat.

“Hey,” Max nodded in greeting.

“Hey yourself. How’s that hand? Drinking to numb the pain?”

“'M just glad it wasn’t your left that did it,” Max grumbled happily. Furiosa barked a laugh, making herself characteristically comfortable in the form of a gracefully inelegant sprawl. Nobody could quite occupy a seat like she did, Max thought.

But, as Ace returned and others gathered, they got more and more squeezed into the corner of the booth. Gone were the days when such close contact would’ve flurried him. Now they were roommates. They’d even slept in the same narrow bunk twice now, after all. Max was beginning to feel rather proud of himself.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karaoke and Kismet. Max does the conclusions long-jump, again. Furiosa gets smacked round the head by the universe, again. Both hopefully for the last time but who knows?
> 
> The Housemartins' Caravan of Love is a song I've listened to wayyyy too much while writing this. Give it a go! Sing along!  
https://youtu.be/ehfiQd7lcPY

The voices rang to the rafters –

(okay, the pub didn’t actually have rafters, but it really should’ve)

– and Max’s rang with them. Normally karaoke had him running for the hills, but maybe it was the whiskey. Or the strength in numbers. Either way, he could do this. It was acapella. It was doable.

_Are you ready for the time of your life? It’s time to stand up and fight – it’s alright, it’s alright – hand in hand we’ll take a caravan – to the marvel land –_

Max’s fists flexed in unwonted enthusiasm, his voice seeming to blend in harmony with the others around him. He’d never felt so - a part of something. It might’ve been the drink, but here they all were, celebrating their new-found freedom. A heavy weight had been lifted off of all of them, and Max felt light in sympathy.

_One by one we’re gonna stand up with pride – _

His eye scanned round the singers, young and old and in-between. 

_Now the children of the world can see, there’s a better place for us to be – _

There was Cheedo, a kid of barely eighteen, beaming and happy and singing at the top of her voice, and Dag there with her eyes closed and her hands outstretched like she’s praying out loud – 

_The place in which we were born, so neglected and torn apart – Every woman, every man, join the caravan of love – stand up, stand up, stand up – everybody take a stand – _

And Furiosa, that was her - like an avenging angel, fierce and beautiful and proud, her voice carrying above all the rest –

_I’m your brother - I’m your brother, don’t you know? _

Old gnarly Ace, doing the _bum-bum-bum _bits in a ringing bass, with Angharad’s arm draped over his shoulders, her baby on her knee, head swaying in time to the music. Toast was curled up at her feet, belting out the song with vigour.

_She’s my sister, she’s my sister, don’t you know?_

And that was Nux’s voice, was he the tenor? Damn. Everyone sounded _amazing_, what the hell kind of karaoke was this? He figured it was the drink. Even he didn’t sound too bad. Quite harmonious, all in all.

_We’ll be living in a world of peace, and the day when everyone is free – we’ll bring the young and old, won’t you let you love flow from your heart - ?_

Max didn’t know _how_ or _what_ he sang, he just filled in the bits where he could. The others knew the song better than he did, clearly, but he remembered it a bit from his younger days. And the same bits would come ‘round again, and he was ready for them. Maybe it was the drink. That surely helped. He did his best and felt it might be enough.

_Are you ready? You better get ready. He’s coming, he’s coming on the caravan_

*

But that was then. Only four hours ago, but here he was again. Wandering the streets of another small town. As lost as he ever he had been. No, not quite. But still.

*

It was right there for him to see, if he hadn’t been so fucking stupid. So _obvious._

Back at the very start, just after they’d moved on. Back when he was just her assistant, not her – whatever he was now –

They’d gone to the hardware store – one of the big ones that you could get lost in, he forgot the name – they’d been at the cash register when she’d grabbed his arm.

“We have to get back. It’s started.”

He’d looked at the assistant ringing in their purchases.

“Come _on. _There’s no _time_ for that.”

He’d looked apologetically at the assistant. “Can you put it aside for us? Family emergency. I’ll be back before closing.”

“We shut at ten,” the assistant replied dully, beginning to void the items. They both knew he wouldn’t be back.

_In the car, as they pulled away - _

“Is she okay?”

“They’ll be fine. Shame about the couch, though. It’ll need cleaning. It’s a boy.”

“Oh. Okay. Which hospital?”

“What?”

_“Which hospital?”_

She shook her head. “Keeper and Maddie are taking care of it. In the rec room. It’s fine. Normal. _Really._”

“Sure, sure,” Max replied hurriedly.

It was so obvious. She knew it all. She knew it’d be a boy. She knew they’d both be fine, mother and baby. She wasn’t remotely surprised when Toast suggested it should be called Baby Yoda, and Angharad laughed so hard she nearly bust her stitches. She explained later that Angharad and Toast had been watching that show with the tinman and the baby Yoda and that’s why she’d called the kid Manny.

Max didn’t get it but whatever.

The main thing was that she had been completely and utterly _floored_ when Angharad had asked her to be godmother. She hadn’t seen that coming.

Furiosa hadn’t seen it coming.

He knew there was something odd about that, but he just hadn’t _thought_.

*

Fittingly, it was in the bar that his improbably safe, warm little world crumbled. 

When the song ended, when they were all blissed out on communal brotherly and sisterly love, and all a bit hoarse and sung-out. Another round was got in to lubricate the pipes, and the conversation somehow turned to the art of fortune-telling.

Not a typical topic of conversation among the fairground folks. Not sure why, but they didn’t talk about it much. Probably trade secrets or something. And it wasn’t like they were all in that line – just Furiosa and Keeper, and Keeper was the only full-time _practis – practi –_ the only one that did it full time.

“You don’t tell your own fortune? Why not?” someone had asked, Max couldn’t remember who.

Furiosa shrugged. “Just can’t. I’ve tried but it doesn’t work, I dunno.”

“Prob’ly a good thing. You’d be planning world domination, else,” someone else had observed. Max didn’t know who that was either. He was too preoccupied by feeling sick and wondering why exactly.

“Seriously though, you can’t see your own future? At all? Fuck. That’s kinda shitty.” It was Dag that time.

“I dunno, I don’t think I’d want to see my own future. Rather keep things as a surprise, really,” she smiled.

*

Her smile was what burned in the afterglow behind his eyelids as he wandered the dark streets.

_She didn’t know._

He could’ve cried.

*

“Where the hell’ve you been?” Angharad advanced angrily on him at the close of day. “She’s been worried sick!”

“ – “ Max replied, eloquently, trying to get past as she blocked his way. “My business.”

“_Seriously?_” Her face twisted like she was going to add something scathing but turned and walked off, with only a disgusted shake of the head. “Yeah, well. I’d thought you were different,” he heard her mutter, in a cold voice.

Max cringed inside. He’d meant to ask if Furiosa was in the Rig, but he wasn’t going to call Angharad back. He’d just have to risk it.

No. It was empty. He opened his cupboard and pulled out his duffel bag with heavy limbs. But he had no choice. He began to stuff his meagre collection of personal goods into the canvas bag until it was full. He couldn’t remember having this much stuff before.

_Gathering moss._

And then the door opened. Furiosa.

_oh god_

He glanced at her guiltily.

She smiled, and the smile didn’t sit well on her. She was mad at him and trying not to show it. “Packing, I see? Well, had to happen sometime. Better late than never, eh?”

Max froze. He’d expected indifference, annoyance maybe – but he didn’t know what _this _was. His confusion must’ve shown in his face. Her smile twitched, like she was having trouble keeping it in place.

“Well, you didn’t come – back – last night,” she went on. “I figured you’d got lucky. Well, I hope it’s – I hope it’s right this time.”

_What? _

Max’s bag dropped from numb fingers. He could’ve flung it down, but he was too weary. He huffed wordlessly in exasperation. “See? That’s what I’m talking about. You’ve really got no idea, have you?” he laughed bitterly, feeling sick to his stomach.

Furiosa looked utterly blank. Unknowing, after all. Max sighed from his boots. _Well, nothing to lose now_.

He looked her in the eye, his hands twitching, determined not to falter now it had come to it.

“Furiosa," he declared, with determination. "You were right. I – _was_ going to fall for someone. You’re a very good fortune teller, don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise. But you aren’t in possession of all the facts,” he broke off with a bitter laugh. “Which is why I can’t stay here.”

“Max,” she advanced a step, looking bewildered. “Please. I’m not an _actual mind-reader - ?"_

_Oh, the irony_

“_Goddammit_,” Max muttered, resigned in the face of her utter perplexity. _Was he really going to have to say it? __Yes, yes he was._

“I saw _you,_" he blurted out. "And I thought you _knew_. But you don’t. You didn’t know, and I can’t _stay_ here,” he waved his hand despairingly at what had latterly been his bunk. Her space that he’d invaded. Thinking and wanting like he had been and, if she didn’t know, that wasn’t okay.

Furiosa stood, blinking at him like she’d been slapped. She took a step a back and sat down heavily on his bunk. _Well, there we go. The penny’s finally dropped_, Max thought, and he stole a last tight-lipped glance at her. She looked stunned, and not particularly delighted, her lips forming an unmistakable ‘_Oh shit’_.

With a faint nod of resignation, Max turned away, picking up his duffel bag from the floor. He paused at the door to grab his pot plant – a gift from Dag. He didn’t know what _kind_ it was, but it was still alive which was more than he’d expected with his track record. One parting glance at Furiosa, who still sat there immobile, her brow puckered in a perplexed frown. She didn’t look up.

_Well, that’s it. He didn’t have to leave, not entirely, but he couldn’t sleep here anymore._

He sighed and stepped heavily off the Rig onto the soft mud. Slung his duffel over his shoulder and trudged towards the Interceptor. The wind was rising, the clouds were racing across the moon, but at least it wasn’t cold. Nobody was going to freeze to death tonight.

“Fool!”

He froze, his foot suspended in mid-air. That voice had gone straight to his hindbrain, there was no ignoring it. Still, he turned reluctantly, half-expecting a sorrowful explanation or a cold rebuff. But he was struck by the sight of her. There was something so familiar about the way she stood there between the Rig and the girls’ caravan, the crescent moon directly overhead. Her long cardigan flapped in the wind. _Where had he seen that before?_

He shook off the nagging thought and regarded her, still wary. She didn’t look like he'd expected - angry, or disappointed. But she didn’t look like she was planning to fling herself into his arms, either. She looked uncannily serene. And, as she stepped forward, he saw that her eyes were half-closed, almost like she was sleepwalking.

Curious and uneasy, Max took a step towards her, and promptly tripped over his own feet, _Where’d that cat come from? _It yowled reproachfully and bolted into the shadows.

He righted himself with difficulty and looked up to find himself very close to Furiosa. Unexpectedly close. He blinked in surprise and tried to construct some kind of apology for getting into her space _yet again _but, before he could even begin to speak, her hand was on the back of his neck and her lips pressed to his - 

\- and just as he’d got over the shock and was responding in kind, she drew back. He made a groan of protest because _noooo, don't stop_ and opened his eyes to see her looking at him, about as wide-eyed and astonished as he felt.

And then she was kissing him again.

It was different this time, a little hesitant, maybe even clumsy. But, unlike a moment ago, there was no doubt who was behind the wheel. _This_ was entirely Furiosa, and she was kissing him, and _oh my wasn't she getting into her stride - _the kiss had gone from tentative to heated in a matter of moments it seemed and Max would quite happily have been dragged into the Rig and made free with but no, here was a handy pile of folded tarps that looked comfy enough –

_Flump_

Furiosa went down first, and Max second and he found himself half-sprawled in her lap when a squeak of dismay could be heard from the shadows. He glanced up with one eye to see Cheedo cover her eyes with both hands and scurry off with a _sorry, sorry, saw nothing at all –_

Max glanced up to Furiosa’s face to see if she was embarrassed, but he guessed not because she tilted up his chin for another kiss as if she was totally unaware. Again the kiss had changed - it hadn't the same intensity, it was more of a comfortable, lingering, familiar kind. He could feel her smile against his lips. She played with his ear, and the hair on the back of his head, in a way that made him just _melt_. It was like he’d known her forever. His fingers brushed her neck, her cheek, the cropped bristle of her hair. Then she took a breath that felt too much like a sob for comfort and he pulled away to look at her, unaccountably afraid.

Yes, her eyes were full of tears as she smiled and kissed his forehead, his cheek, his lips, lingering like a last goodbye.

It hit Max that at least one of them had been on a journey. No, he’d been there too, if only a half-blind passenger. But how far had they gone together? Years? Months? Maybe only days - he had no idea.

“Max?”

She sounded stunned, tired. He remembered how she’d been after his tarot reading, and Angharad had told him how she’d been off her feet for days. _Shit. _

“Hey. Hey. You okay? Shall we get you inside? Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, barely audible.

He pulled her to her feet as carefully as he could manage and braced as she put her arm across his shoulders, letting him take her weight.

“You okay? You sick?”

“No, no,” she sighed. “Just a bit tired. Was - a lot - ”

Max knew Furiosa’s ‘a bit tired’ was ‘about to drop’ to most people, so he supported her into the Rig where she flopped down on her bunk with a sigh that could only be described as contented, even by Max. He sat down on the edge and regarded her wonderingly, fondly. She was so bewilderingly perfect and _Shit. Had they actually started something here? Or had he just dreamt the whole thing?_

She opened her eyes languidly, and they creased into a tired smile. “Never kissed anyone before,” she murmured.

“Huh,” he mused, managing to bite his lip nonchalantly. “Pretty good for a beginner.”

She chuckled a little drunkenly. “Cheated, though. Whole lifetime’s worth in one go, right there.” 

Max's heart very nearly went into orbit with a thrill of relief at the words. He couldn't bear the thought of this being a short-term thing, over all too soon. _A whole lifetime_.

Tiredness hit him like rocks. On autopilot, he unlaced her boots and pulled them off. Then his. Then his jacket. He looked at his bunk and then at hers. She’d squeezed herself into the wall and gave the narrow empty space a few sleepy pats. Taking that as a welcome invitation, he lay down beside her and Furiosa draped herself over his chest with another deep sigh.

"Sure you don't feel sick?"

“Nooo. Feel great. But," she sighed, murmured regretfully "’s all going away. All those memories. Fading away. Shame - "

Max hummed sympathetically. "But, uh, y'know - " he murmured, nuzzling her head and marvelling at the sensation. “Get to live it now, yeah?”

"Yeah," she chuckled sleepily, tucking herself into his armpit with a sigh. “Let’s live it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want a visual reference for Max's departure from the Rig with his duffel bag, dog and pot plant, Furiosa standing under the crescent moon with a cat at her feet and their subsequent collapse on a pile of discarded tarpaulins (with an embarrassed Cheedo looking on), then take a look at these links showing the tarot cards from Max's reading:
> 
> The Fool  
http://www.elitarotstrickingly.com/blog/the-tarot-of-eli-the-druid-craft-tarot-key-0-the-fool-the-thoth-tarot
> 
> The Lovers  
http://www.elitarotstrickingly.com/blog/the-tarot-of-eli-the-druid-craft-tarot-key-6-the-lovers-the-thoth
> 
> The High Priestess  
http://www.elitarotstrickingly.com/blog/the-tarot-of-eli-the-druid-craft-tarot-key-2-the-high-priestess-the-thoth


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the delay in wrapping this up! I got derailed by covid chaos and distracted by other fandoms. hope you're still interested!

First thing Max saw when he woke was an extreme closeup of Furiosa’s face, wearing an expression of wide-eyed bemusement.

“Did that really happen?” her voice was sleepy and husky and sounded all the better for being so close. “I mean - ”

She couldn’t hold his gaze for more than a few seconds before looking away.

Embarrassed? Uncertain? Afraid? She looked exactly like he’d felt for – months. He’d never seen her like that before – always so assured and confident as she always was. Seeing her so flustered and unsure of herself gave Max courage that he didn’t think possible only yesterday. He ducked his head and kissed her. Too lingering to be a peck, but too brief to be presumptuous (he hoped).

But it seemed to be the answer she was looking for, because she made a noise between a moan and a whimper and leaned in.

For the next few minutes, Max wondered how he could have ever complained about the smallness of the bunk. Until he was brought back to earth with a literal thump. Several thumps, at the Rig’s door. Furiosa froze at the sound.

“Hey, can I get the keys?” a gravelly voice called out. “That leaky pipe, remember?”

Ace.

Furiosa sighed and carefully climbed off Max. She checked herself over, presumably to be sure she was decent, and rummaged in the pocket of her discarded cardigan. Retrieving something that jingled, she took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Morning, Ace. Here. Um, we’ll be along in a bit, yeah?”

“Don’t worry about it. So he’s back, then? Cheedo said she’d seen you both – oh, alright Max, how’s it going? I’ve got your – uh – your _bag_ here. And your pot plant,” he added a little reproachfully - fair enough, considering how Dag would kick off if she knew how it’d been treated - “They got rained on.”

Max signalled his thanks with an embarrassed nod. _Oh God, Cheedo had seen them rolling about out there - that’s – that’s not ideal –_ he disappeared into his own little world of embarrassment, which was at least five degrees hotter than the one everyone else seemed to reside in.

But what was Ace saying now? He was muttering something confidentially to Furiosa, who looked confused and plain uncomfortable. But Ace’s voice would carry, despite best efforts.

‘The first’s always the worst, trust me - you’ll be all the better for it – take your time, alright?”

_The first? What - ?_

Furiosa gave her thanks and goodbyes and thanks and goodbyes and finally Ace left, with one last concerned look. _Jeez, was this going to be weird? This was going to be weird, wasn’t it?_

“I don’t know what that was all about,” she shook her head slowly and pulled on her cardigan. “We should probably get to work. Or whatever. They’ll be wondering where we are - ”

Max sighed, resigned to never getting a minute’s peace in this place. “Yeah. Okay.”

*

It was definitely a strange atmosphere in the mechanics yard. How could it not be, after what’d happened? For all that, Max couldn’t quite bring himself to be _worried_ as such, which was weird in itself. Normally he would happily worry about anything at all if he put his mind to it.

But no, he couldn’t convince himself that she regretted what had passed between them. It wasn’t regret that made her so fidgety, so on edge. It was the suddenness of the thing. It was probably a lot to process. _She really didn’t know that she’d been the centre of his world for the last six months_.

_Crash_

Ace took a deep breath and rolled his eyes for the fifth time that morning, with the air of a man who was counting to fifty.

Furiosa might be like a cat on a hot tin roof – dropping tools and generally getting on Ace’s nerves - but Max was on edge too, but he had the additional difficulty of – well, he couldn’t stop thinking about that morning, before they’d been interrupted. Things were getting kind of heated and a person can’t just put that kind of thing out of their mind –

“NIPPLE! Max! Can I get a - ”

Upon which Ace experienced a short sharp shower of miscellaneous plumbing accessories. At least he was wearing goggles.

It’s not that Max was _jumpy_ – no, he just wasn’t used to stupid plumbing terminology. Plus, for a horrible moment he’d thought that _Ace_ was the mind-reader after all.

“Right! That’s it! The two of you - I don’t want to see you in here again til you’ve sorted this thing out. I don’t care how you do it – take a holiday! I mean it – go on, git!”

*

“What’s up with him?” asked Max, because he couldn’t think of anything more sensible to say. Furiosa looked as chastened and confused-looking as Max felt, but she frowned with thought as she chewed on an oil-stained knuckle.

“I – I’m pretty sure they think we’ve been together for – a while?”

“Wh - ” he began, then stopped to think. _Oh_. _Maybe - ?_

“I know what Ace is like – he’s in relationship counsellor mode right now. I think _he_ thinks we’ve just had our first big argument.” Furiosa rolled her eyes appealingly at Max from behind her clenched fist. There was laughter in them, if you looked beyond the embarrassment. She rubbed her forehead and made the face of someone who was getting the joke. It was very infectious.

“So – what now?” he asked, with a smile he couldn’t quite suppress, even more so because she took a step closer and played with his lapel.

“What do you say to a trip? Maybe we should do as he said. Get away from here for a bit? Change of scenery?”

_What would he say? He hadn’t the words._ So, he merely nodded,

“You’re the boss, Boss.”

*

And so, Max drove and Furiosa sat in the passenger seat, scrolling on her phone. After a minute or two’s intense scrutiny, she nodded with a satisfied grin and – finally – told him where to drive to.

It was quite fancy. Much too fancy for a pair of grease-monkeys who hadn’t bothered to change before hitting the road. But, for all that, the receptionist had gotten it into her head that it was a special occasion – an anniversary, perhaps? – and they hadn’t argued when she’d upgraded them.

Oh, what a room. What a _bed_. Shit, it was enough to spread out on three times over. They’d just lain there like they were trying to make snow angels and had got tired. And there was the fruit bowl and the huge shiny shower and the bathrobes and the conversations about how they _really_ needed to reconsider their sleeping arrangements.

And the room service.

He was the luckiest man in the world and falling asleep with Furiosa in front of the forty-two-inch plasma TV was glorious. What passed in the morning when they woke was a bonus. There was a definite sense of ‘take your opportunities while you can’ and they knew they wouldn’t get interrupted that time, no matter how late they were. As long as they checked out by twelve.

*

_The luckiest man in the world. _

Max grinned as he straightened his tie. One last check and he _really _had to go. He’d been reminiscing for long enough and he’d be late if he didn’t get a shift on. She would be waiting, and he really wanted to see the _dress_.

He hurried out the door.

*

It was pure stubbornness. No-one thought she would wear a _dress_, even for a wedding. And the more that people laughed at her determination to do so, the more set she was on it. It was pure Furiosa, even if the outcome was unexpected.

It _was _a wedding, after all. Even if it was expected to be a low-key affair - one of the participants having been through it all once before - it was a big event. Max wasn’t going to argue. The downside was that it meant he would have to wear a tie, but it’d be totally worth it.

He turned the corner, and there she was, like a dream of green. The top bit was like a fancy version of the kind of t-shirt she typically wore – snug and round-necked with those little small sleeves – a fine gauzy material all stitched over with leaves. But the bottom half was long and wide and flouncy, and looked amazing on her. He never would have imagined her coming home with something like that, even as a dare, but it looked perfect. Very Furiosa. Not to mention the tips of her black biker boots just showing at ground level, and the black leather jacket that hung oh-so casually from her fingertip.

Max laughed in delighted amazement as she grinned and twirled with a questioning look in her eye that said _well?_

After a moment or two, Max offered her his arm with a flourish, and off they marched to the town hall. It wasn’t far and it’d probably be a nightmare to park the car. And, while that dress would be spectacular on a motorbike, he couldn't answer for even Furiosa's ability to take a corner wearing it.

*

It was so strange to be back here, back where they’d first met. It wasn’t the prettiest of towns, but it’d always have happy memories. Max cast his eye around the room, at Nux nervously fumbling in his pockets to check for the rings – the fourth time and counting – at the guests he didn’t know and those he did. The fairground crew, of course, and quite a few of the townsfolk. There was the old guy with his dog, sitting next to the little tattooed woman they called Giddy. Max caught Stephen’s eye and got a thumbs up. The old fella had a buffet look in his eye, and Max wondered how many little bags and boxes he had tucked away.

Just then, the music struck up and the celebrant stepped forward, beaming. Max nudged Furiosa, who was whispering with Ace and Big Dave. “Hey, it’s time.”

“Friends!” declared the celebrant, “we are here together today on this beautiful morning to join a couple whom, I’ve been told, met under rather unusual circumstances! But, as I’m _very _sure that will be touched upon in the best man’s speech, I will get straight to the business of the day!”

Max approved of this minimal messing-around as, he knew, did Furiosa. Good choice, that man.

“I am duly authorised by law to solemnise marriages according to law. Before you are joined in marriage in my presence and in the presence of these witnesses, I am to remind you of the solemn and binding nature of the relationship into which you are now about the enter. Marriage, according to the law in Australia, is a union of two people to the exclusion of all others, voluntarily entered into for life.”

The celebrant turned to Slit, who looked so proud that his shiny shoes barely seemed to be touching the ground. “Repeat after me: I call upon the persons here present to witness that I, Simon Smollett, take thee, Deborah Annabel Ormerod, to be my lawful wedded wife - ”

*

The crowd cheered and threw confetti as Debbie and Slit stood for photos with their guard of honour – Slit’s teammates, forming an arch with their hockey sticks.

Furiosa caught Max’s eye and they shared a knowing smile. _She was amazing and she was his and he was the luckiest man in the world_. Slit might claim otherwise, but Max knew better.

A whoop from the crowd drew Max’s attention back to the here and now, and he laughed as the bride was swept up and borne off, giggling helplessly, by her new husband. Slit and Debbie, huh? Funny how things turn out.

From the very beginning, Nux and Capable had kept the both of them in the loop about the blossoming relationship between this unlikely couple. Max had been incredibly relieved to hear Debbie was moving on, although _Slit?_ Yikes. But he guessed she knew what she was doing. It was testament to her decision-making skills that it’d raised Slit in Max’s estimation to know that Debbie was dating him.

Max was glad and grateful that there wasn’t much discussion about how he felt about the news. It would’ve been difficult to explain why he wasn’t even a little bit cut up about it without touching on the fact that _he’d_ actually moved on first. And Furiosa always changed the subject every time it came up. He’d assumed it was because she felt guilty about the whole sorry mess, and he still wasn’t over the delightful idea that she’d had _other_ reasons for avoiding the topic.

It was pretty funny, in hindsight. By that time, back as winter was coming on, everyone thought the two of them were already an item. They weren’t shacked up together, but they were practically in each other’s pockets’ most of the time. But, Furiosa being a very private person and Max having shown himself to be skittish about disclosing personal information, nobody would tease them or otherwise refer to the apparently obvious relationship. He wondered what would’ve happened if they had.

But back to Debbie and Slit.

They’d met – not counting the night of Cheedo’s eighteenth birthday – when Slit was coaching at Hockey Camp. He’d been _volunteered_, having fallen foul of the Chromies’ head coach for some misdemeanour or other, and took the job with no good grace. Young Glory just so happened to have developed a sudden interest in learning to play ice hockey. Man and girl became instant frenemies: Glory being affectionately dubbed ‘Gremlin’ and Slit known thereafter as ‘Horrible Hockey Man’ or variations on the theme.

Thus, Debbie was regaled with animated tales of ‘Horrible Hockey Man’ on a weekly basis, but their paths never actually crossed until some big event at the Bull when she and Slit got maudlin-drunk and made out in a corner. They were both very embarrassed and agreed to never speak of it again. Of course, Slit messaged Nux and Debbie messaged Capable and a happy ending eventually ensued.

Once Debbie got over the age difference thing – Capable and Nux were the ideal people to convince her that _that_ shouldn’t put her off – her messages suggested that she was positively glowing. For his part, Slit did his best to retain the asshole-bravado thing but nobody was convinced. The guy was head over heels and everyone knew it.

Right now, for example. On the floor, dancing like a maniac to Viva Las Vegas with Debbie’s surprisingly spry grandmother, Slit was unrecognisable from the hoodlum that had broken into the fairground that night. The scarred face and one bad eye would still be as alarming to those who’d never met him before – as could be seen from the expressions of some of Debbie’s relatives – but his new life with Debbie and Glory had clearly agreed with him.

*

The bride stepped forward, both hands outstretched in greeting. “Max! Furiosa! So good to see you!”

Despite the almost inevitable awkwardness of the three of them meeting again, it went off pretty well. They were all genuinely happy for each other and, after a seemingly _endless_ painful pause of about a quarter of a second, it was just a matter of who could get out more congratulations – Max, Furiosa or Debbie. That was as far as the conversation progressed, not through having nothing to talk about, but from having too much.

Furiosa’s simple prompt of “Slit, huh?” worked wonders.

“I know, right? Phew, he’s a livewire, isn’t he?” enthused Debbie, looking back at her new husband being whirled about by her small daughter. Her words were unsentimental, but the way she looked at Slit had an undeniably smitten quality to it. “I know it was ridiculously quick but - ” she shrugged helplessly, “but I guess sometimes you just _know_, you know?”

A quick and congratulatory hug with both of them in turn was all she had time for before being swept back into the throng.

*

It wasn’t a big wedding, but the music had something for everyone and dancefloor was just full enough for them to both feel comfortably inconspicuous. But when that Sinatra number kicked in, there wasn’t anyone there but the two of them. That was another memory to add to the album.

*

“Okay, ladies - get ready! One – two – three - throw!”

The scuffle that followed was an interesting and undignified sight to behold. Ace had complained to everyone who would listen that it was unfair and a shameful perpetuation of gender norms.

“Why should those two get a double chance?” he grumbled, semi-seriously, at Toast and Angharad who stood shoulder to shoulder – or shoulder to elbow in their case – in a dual effort to catch the bouquet. Ace and Dave, on the other hand, had zero chance of winning at this particular way of joining the wedding queue. Max and Nux, as representatives of the opposite-sex approach and therefore neutral, tried in vain to argue that catching the flowers wasn’t a necessary prerequisite to a proposal, but that was dismissed as being besides the point.

When Furiosa caught the bouquet, Max tried not to get too excited. After all, if you set that woman a challenge, she _will_ carry it through on principle. After the whoops and cheers and good-natured grumbling from Toast about her height disadvantage, the topic was let alone. It was time for The Entertainment, after all.

Furiosa didn’t quite look like she knew what to do with it, though, and carried it around for the rest of the night, hooked conveniently onto the buckle of her prosthetic.

*

An Entertainment was inevitable, since half of the guests were former circus performers. And, since the Bull wasn’t big enough for motorbike tricks and the insurance wouldn’t cover fire-eating performances, it was down to Cheedo and her contortionist act to carry the night.

It was _interesting_, as ever.

Max had seen it a few times before - sparingly. There was something about Cheedo’s act that was fascinating and nausea-inducing in equal measure.

This time she and Dag skipped out to a high-energy clappy number, did a few high-kicking moves and generally dominated the floor like a pair of goth cheerleaders. But then it got a little weirder even than usual. The act itself wasn’t anything different from normal, but the music was new - an unnerving mix of peppy and weird, not unlike Cheedo herself, really.

_‘I said it’s better than pleasure, and it hurts more than pain, I’ve got what it takes to drive you insane – I said now is the time to lose all control - distort your body and twist your soul - Contort yourself – at first you arrive in position, and then you shatter your frame - and then you stretch your resistance until your mind slips away – and once you forget your affection for the human race – reduce yourself to a zero and then you’ll fall in right in place’_

As one girl stretched and folded herself into eye-watering positions, and the other danced and whirled around to the beat like a wild thing, the wedding guests looked on with a mix of horror and fascination. This was a wedding that would live on in the memory, Max supposed. But that’s what happens when you marry into circus folk. Presumably they’d all been warned.

*

_Furiosa had caught the bouquet_.

Max couldn’t help but think about that. It had looked like a very easy catch. _Could she - ?_ No, she couldn’t see her own future, that was certain. She just had excellent hand-eye co-ordination. Nothing spooky about that.

But, as the bride and groom drove off in Slit’s new Audi – ‘just married’ sprayed on with silly string – and Glory led back inside under the collective wing of the fair young’uns to learn circus skills during the honeymoon, Furiosa and Max took a moonlight walk through the deserted streets.

“What do you want to do about this, then?” she asked with a sly smile.

“I think you could hazard a guess. Just like you guessed where it was going to land - ?”

“Tsk. Are you suggesting I cheated?” She stopped and drew him to her, looking him intently in the eye. Max loved it when she did that. He imagined she was looking into his very soul and it thrilled him to the bone.

“Nothing wrong with putting your skills to good use.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music-wise, the Sinatra number was, of course, 'It Had To Be You'. Cheedo's contortionist act music was 'Contort Yourself' by James Chance and The Contortions https://youtu.be/PIyVH-UXdkk
> 
> Furiosa’s dress is like this but in green https://kirkypet.tumblr.com/post/190073856281/gabytaangeles-beauty


End file.
